The Pact
by MischiefManagedAndFishCustard
Summary: What would have the young Vicompte so desperate as to seek the assistance of the Phantom? And everybody assumed Hell had to freeze over before those two ever made any kind of a truce...
1. Chapter 1

Just a very random idea I had. Can you tell me if you like it? If you do, I'll continue it.

Thanks to NoelleLaBelle (go harass her with reviews for her phics).

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**The Pact.**

_Chapter One._

Memories washed over the young man as he stared blankly at the dull grey walls, dappled with mould and cobwebs. He did not turn to the window, his eyes not wanting to look at the star speckled night through the bars. A tremor escaped him, almost like a whimper, as he thought of his inevitable fate which could come tomorrow when he was handed his sentence, but it was immediately cut off as if severed with a knife. He forced himself to remain calm…The evidence of his last outburst remained on the floor in the corner of the small room, the plate of now stone-cold roast lamb lying on the stone floor, the goblet of spilled wine keeping the untouched meal company. He forced himself to fall back on memories – he only had limited time to delve on them anyway…

_The gondola came to a halt when it docked at the landing, as the fires that would destroy the Opera Populaire by that dawn, ravaged the levels above them, Christine had been silent as they had made their journey from the Phantom's lair, but after the sound of what seemed to be glass breaking from the distance, she clung to him tighter, sobs wracking her body. He murmured soft words of comfort, but his words had little effect on her. When the gondola stopped she sank to her knees, covering her tear-stained face with her hands, shaking as she wept._

"_Raoul," she managed to choke through the tears, "What have I done? He'll die without me, what have I done? Oh, my poor, wretched Angel!"_

_Without a word he bent down beside her and scooped her into his arms. Then he gently lifted her up and stepped out of the boat, walking away. He made promises of his devotion to her, and slowly her trembling began to subside._

"_He will die because of me…" her words held more desolation than her tears had shown, and it frightened him somewhat to hear that empty resignation of imagined guilt._

"_You saved him Christine," he murmured in her ear, "I saw that kiss…You broke him. Freed him,"_

"_No," she shook her head fervently, but stopped when he reprimanded her half-heartedly, and then fell back into weeping again._

_He rested his head upon her curls and his own tears silently streamed down his face. And in his mind he thanked the pitiful ghost, who had given his only light away._

"_I love you, Lotte…"_

_How ironic that he owed his whole world to the man who had been so set on destroying it, not even a half hour ago…_

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…"_Nobody will come,"_

_Raoul's words were encumbered with pain in spite of the pains he took in trying to hide it, as he placed the last of his remaining family's letter of refusal to attend the wedding on his desk. He avoided Christine's eyes as he sat, and covered his face with his hands. The venomous words he had memorised all too well rang in his ears – "Disgusting," "A disgrace," "Soiling the family's good name," were the tamest of the sentiments that had been pelted at him._

_And the sordid crime he had committed to warrant such harsh words? Falling in love, it seemed. With a common singer, one who was already covered with scandal – and how the press were having a field day with that!_

_Her arms gently entwined around his upper torso and her chin rested on his shoulder comfortingly, "It does not matter Raoul…We have each other…And your parents will be there in spirit, as will my Father…Even though you broke one of his violin strings as a boy…"_

_He smiled slightly as she scattered kisses through his hair, in spite of himself._

"_That isn't fair," he replied, "I didn't mean to drop the instrument,"_

_She giggled, and he moved back as she sat on his lap, pulling him close._

"_I only want you Raoul," she murmured as she lightly kissed his mouth, "Not your family, not your title, not your wealth…"_

_His pulse quickened at her touch and his hands caressed her delicate waist and moved slowly up her back, where he longed to tug open the buttons to the back of her dress. But he sighed as he deepened the kiss and he lifted his hands to her hair instead._

"_Yes, you are right," he agreed when he had a moment to spare between their burning kisses, "We don't need anybody else, just us…"_

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…_He held his beloved bride in his arms under the covers while on their honeymoon, her silken skin smooth and glistening with the crystal beads that were evidence of their exertion from those minutes previous. He felt her panting slightly beneath him; her soft brown eyes sparkled with mischief as his lips ghosted her swan-like neck, her delicate shoulders, her perfect breasts…_

_Her hands wandered deliciously through his hair, playing with it gently with her fingers._

"_Again?" he gasped for air, as she moved underneath him encouragingly._

_She smiled coyly, and he captured her mouth with his appreciatively as he sheathed himself in her once more._

"_Lotte…" his voice slurred as she began to rock underneath him, and all thoughts suddenly evaporated as he again made love to the woman he adored with insatiable heat…_

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_He groaned groggily and tried to pull away, wanting to fall back into the welcoming embrace of slumber, but he could not escape when the little fingers tugged at his hair and he finally resigned himself as his giggling three year old son jumped on the back of him, as he lay in bed._

"_Happy birthday Papa!"_

"_Mmmmph…" Raoul mumbled, and suddenly without warning his arm reached out and snatched his child, tickling him mercilessly which inspired the boy to erupt into peals of laughter._

_He looked up as Christine entered holding a tray full of breakfast. She must have woken early, and by the look of the smudge on her cheek which looked suspiciously like flour, she had made him breakfast. A surge of love for her went through him, and when she placed the tray on the bedside table he pulled her close._

"_Happy birthday Raoul…I thought you'd like breakfast before you open your gifts," she said after she gave him a morning kiss._

"_Perfect…Hey!" Raoul's eyes widened in feigned shock when his little boy leaned over, stealing some berries from the small bowl on the tray, "Laurence, how could you?" he pulled his child into his arms, and then cried out when Christine stole some for herself._

"_I'm surrounded by traitors!" he laughed, but then had to stop when Christine popped a blueberry into his open mouth…_

Tears streamed down his face as memories scraped over his mind like broken glass. So painful to touch, but he had no choice. They just kept coming, but they were comforting in their own bittersweet way.

He did not turn to the door of the cell as it opened, knowing it was time for the priest who regularly made his visits this time each night.

"…Good evening Father," he said hollowly.

He was answered with silence, but then there was a cold and unmistakable voice replying, which was not the quiet and soothing tone of the Priest…Raoul's blood turned to ice.

"Never in my life did I think this little predicament would occur,"

Raoul froze, not turning to look at the person who had entered. He lowered his head, softly weeping for a moment, which slowly turned to quietly hysterical chuckling.

He balled his fist suddenly, anger pulsing through him and he then growled, "Come to _gloat_, have you? Proud that you're the free man and I'm the caged murderer?"


	2. Chapter 2

Oh, thank you for the interest shown! Yay! They made my day! Keep 'em coming, hahaha.**

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**Chapter Two.**

Raoul finally turned to the person who had entered his cell, and he managed a smirk at the man once known as the Phantom - dressed in a cloak, with the hood pulled low over his face. He pulled the hood back, revealing the white mask hiding half of his face. Underneath the cloak he wore a priest's frock coat of sable, and around his neck a gold crucifix with amethysts and rubies.

"You killed Father Giovanni?" Raoul managed to ask, when his anger subsided enough to speak.

"No," the Phantom glided over the cell floor to the corner of the room where he stood for the first half of the visit, his arms folded, with feline gracefulness. He eyed Raoul with undecipherable emotion, then answered non-chalently, as if it were an after-thought, "I gave the Priest the courtesy of a good night's sleep. I slipped a drug into his ale, and took the liberty of borrowing what I needed for disguise,"

Raoul frowned, "You do realise I could shout to the guard and have you captured?"

A slight smile seemed to touch the Phantom's mouth, "You would have done it already, you would not have wasted your breath telling me first,"

Raoul turned away, "What is it that you want? Tell me quickly and then leave,"

"Ah," the Phantom answered mockingly, "Delving on your thoughts when you're in prison being tried for murder must be so trying. You must have so much to do, do forgive me for this intrusion,"

Raoul stood, "I ask you one more time. Tell me why you are here, then leave,"

The Phantom said nothing, and with his gloved hand covered his mouth thoughtfully.

His next words were quiet, but each word clear and precise, and Raoul slowly sank back to his seat.

"Six years ago I gave someone very precious of mine to you. I did so believing that she would have a better life...Yes you had your wealth, but that wasn't just it - you were strong, noble, true to your word, you could give her security, safety...You knew her, knew how delicate she was. You loved her. You were honourable. And so I rebuilt a life for myself, where I could be alone with my memories and music...Not too far from Paris - in _Eure-et-Loir_, where you would never be bothered by me but where I could quickly return to Paris if I so much as heard a whisper that Christine was in trouble...And for six years I was not disturbed, until a few weeks ago when I read some rather disturbing news in the paper...I bade my time patiently, following the news I read...But I fear I had to come now, for it does not look like it will end well for you, does it Vicompte?"

Raoul covered his face with his hands trembling, not saying a word.

"Tell me Chagny," the Phantom's words were a low hiss, "Was it for the money? Your own wealth was not enough, you had to try to claim your brother's birthright because he was the oldest and had inherited the title?"

The young man still sat wordlessly, but he began to rock slowly, weeping uncontrollably.

"Tell me!" the Phantom slammed his fist into the wall, where decades of undisturbed debris fell discarded to the floor, "What possible reason could justify you making Christine a widow when - and yes I say _when _and not _if - _you are found guilty?"

"I...I didn't..." Raoul was stammering now, his words shaking and barely audible, "I didn't mean it...I...He..."

"TELL ME!" the Phantom had crossed the floor, his hands seizing the front of Raoul's coat viciously.

Raoul tried to pull away, but to no avail, as the Phantom's clutch on him was as firm as iron.

The young man began to sob unashamedly, and crumpled, putting his whole weight on the Phantom as he leaned in, "It was an accident, a horrible accident! I didn't mean to kill my brother! I'll burn for it, but believe me, I didn't mean for Philippe to die!"


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you so much for the reviews. has been rather screwy with me lately, so I haven't been getting any of my reviews emailed like I usually do. I just randomly clicked my stats as I was adding this on and I found heaps of reviews! Yay! They're all so lovely! Thank you. They really do inspire me to write more.

I would have liked to have done more with this chapter, but I've had a messed up day. I know it's been a couple of days since I posted so I thought I'd better post another chap.

It'll get better soon and questions will be answered. I PROMISE!

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_Chapter Three._

The Phantom shoved the young Vicompte away from himself with contempt, his words wringing with rancour as he spat savagely, "Murder is never as simple as an _accident _boy - you forget who it is you are speaking with,"

Raoul stumbled a few steps back as he was pushed, not bothering to steady himself. He fell back against the opposite wall to the Phantom, breathing hard as he forced control over himself, "You must believe me. It was not intentional - we - we argued and..." he paused for a moment and then mumbled to himself, "Why do I care what others think of me? It only matters that the Judge sees the truth...Christine believes me, and that is all I need,"

At the mention of Christine, the Phantom's voice softened, "How is she?"

Raoul looked over to him, "She is faring better than I had hoped. At first I feared for her - especially because I was not there to help her, but..." a small tremble of a smile touched his mouth instinctively, but his light blue eyes saddened at the same time, "Our child helps her so...Such an intuitive little one..." he stopped when he saw emotion betraying the face of the man across from him.

The Phantom blinked a few times, licking his lips nervously, "A...A child? Christine is a Mother?"

He found it rather funny somewhat, to hear such news. He was no fool - he knew perfectly well what went on behind the confines of marriage when the doors of the bedroom were closed, but he had always banished that thought from ever fully taking shape. The mere idea that his beautiful Christine was touched by another - stirred nausea in the pit of his stomach. Nausea and bitter loathing towards the privileged man. The fact that she would be entwined under the covers with _him, _smiling up at _him, _gasping _his _name, resting afterwards in _his _arms, whispering words of affection in _his _ear as _his _lips lingered over her body that was weary from _his _movements...He could not afford to think on it too much...He had had to redecorate a few of his rooms afterwards in response to such dark and unappealing thoughts...Which was probably why the thought of Christine bearing a child had not frequantly crossed his mind. He had always thought the notion would sicken him, just like the act that made it take place reviled him.

So now while thinking about it, why did the knowledge that it had definantly taken place, not fill him with dread? He even could have almost smiled, thinking of the infant that she would cradle in her arms. She would be a beautiful Mother.

"Yes," Raoul brought him back from his reverie of thoughts, "To a little boy who has just turned five. Laurence Philippe De Chagny," Raoul stammered over the boy's middle name, and turned his face away.

"Is she happy?" the Phantom asked, not able to hide the sarcasm in his added words, "I mean – _was_ she – before you decided to commit fratricide?"

Raoul ignored the smugness in the man's words, and instead chose not to answer.

The Phantom stepped closer, his words low as he repeated the question, "Was she happy?"

"I…I cannot say…" Raoul answered softly, "I do not know how to best answer your question with complete honesty,"

"What do you mean?" the Phantom asked slowly.

Raoul rubbed his forehead with the back of his palm – he could feel a headache coming along – and he sighed before he answered, "She loves me, I know she does – after all these years together there has never been any doubt of that. And Laurence – she treasures him beyond anything. But…Happy has never been a word you could permanently associate with her, is it? Occasionally she would just drift off into long periods of depression…They were only occasionally mind you, only once or twice a year. But I fear she hid a lot more behind her smile, did not want to vex me…It was especially bad though straight after she gave birth to Laurence, it was as if she didn't feel she deserved to be happy…She blamed herself for your destruction,"

The Phantom stared at the young man perplexed, "What are you talking about? She was supposed to be happy with you!" his voice grew louder, "Goddamnit, I sent her to be with you so she could be happy!"

Raoul laughed hollowly at this, "You never realized the whole situation was a double edged sword Monsieur?"

The Phantom covered his mouth with his gloved hand thoughtfully, "So I made a mistake then?" his words were only meant for himself, but Raoul answered nonetheless –

"No! Don't you see! Whatever decision that could have been made would have been cursed. Damned if you had kept her, damned if you had sent her away," he sat back on his seat resigned, "She loves us both _Monsieur Le Fantôme_,"

The Phantom started to move to the cell door.

"Where are you going?" Raoul asked suddenly, standing up.

"To see your wife," the Phantom answered flatly.

An irrational bout of fear surged through the Vicompte and in just a couple of steps he blocked the doorway, grabbing hold of the Phantom's arm frantically. He did not know why exactly he was afraid, but he could not let that man leave the cell!

"Don't you touch her!"

Erik grabbed Raoul and slammed him into the wall viciously, growling, "Do _not_ put your hand upon me again, Chagny, and furthermore never imply that I would harm Christine. I may have let her leave but to this day I still love her, and the very thought of causing her injury is sickening." he then backed off, leaving Raoul staring, "...I cannot simply read about all this and visit you here. I want to see with my own eyes and hear from her how she fares in all this. It doesn't do anyone well to go mad with depression and loneliness... You can trust that I know personally what I speak of,"

Without another word to Raoul he turned back to the door and called for the Guard. He then left, not turning back, and a new type of fear embedded itself into the Vicompte, who slid defeated to the floor.


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you, thank you, thank you for the reviews!

Yeah, I know I posted this, but I deleted it to change a few things at the end.

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**Chapter Four.**

Christine De Chagny was combing out her mass of dark curls as she sat in front of her vanity table in her bedroom, vaguely looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her thoughts were as far from her appearance as was possible, and she placed the hairbrush down when she realised it was a useless pursuit. She stared at the young woman in the mirror, noting the dark shadows patterned under her eyes, the pensive frown…

It had been a couple of months since they had taken her husband into custody. And each day proved to be harder than the last. Raoul had been wracked with indescribable guilt when they had thrown him in a cell. By rights he should not be in prison, he had not been found guilty _yet, _but ever since the Revolution decades before, nobility who were accused of crimes were not looked upon with kindness. And Raoul had run from the scene and had hid from the police for a number of hours after…The worst possible mistake.

No judge could endure under the pressure of public opinion _and _one of the nation's wealthiest families demanding punishment be given out, and had refused Raoul bail. Everything crumbled after that – Christine had had to witness her strong, cheerful husband disintegrate before her very eyes. A haunted look befell his features now replacing his former healthy glow, and she had to hold his cold hands to her cheeks to stop them from trembling. She had not known such strength in her had existed until it was needed for her beloved. But it grew whenever she saw her poor love, whenever she sang softly to him to calm his tears…

_Oh Raoul…_

She should have been a better wife to him. She had always been selfish – wallowing in her own melancholy and wounds from the past – and she never understood how he could have loved her. But his adoration had always remained steadfast through it all. He deserved nothing but her absolute devotion. She would be his rock of strength now, and then after it all when he would return to her, she would be the perfect wife. The wife he always ought to have had.

She moved from her bedroom to the nursery where her little boy Laurence lay peacefully sleeping, his dreams blissfully unaware of the calamity his family were facing. He stirred slightly but did not wake as she readjusted his bed sheets that had become entangled around him. She smiled and bent down, her lips brushing his soft cheek. His thumb was nestled in his little mouth, and his dark golden curls which spilled over the pillow gave him the appearance of a Raphaelite angel. She could have smiled at that notion – he was always involved in some mischief, the word 'angel' was the last thing he would be described as. With his heart-shaped face and hair, he was the very picture of a De Chagny, but he had inherited her dark eyes. He was her little guardian, holding her hand so tightly whenever out in public that no person with malicious intent would dare make a cruel remark to her in his presence. But she was not immune to the eyes that followed her every move, dancing with spite and gossip.

He did not know where his Father was; only that he was away and might be gone for a little while. And he seemed to understand that it pained his Mother to ask too many questions, thus he chose silence. He was his Father's son through and through. There had always been gossip that surrounded her marriage to the wayward Vicompte, but nobody could suggest that the child was not Raoul's – not when they laid eyes on him.

A lump which had formed in her throat a while ago throbbed painfully now, and she covered her face with her hands as the tears fell, weeping softly. She had learnt over this difficult period that tears were not a weakness - that she must allow them to spill; otherwise she would break and be useless to everybody.

"I cannot do this alone…" she whispered hoarsely, rocking slowly. She had too, she knew – for her husband and child depended on her, but she didn't know how she would survive this.

A small hand touched her arm and she straightened straightaway, her heart lurching when she saw Laurence staring at her, his eyes holding far too much compassion for somebody his age.

"Forgive me Laurence, I did not mean to wake you," she murmured, forcing a smile to her face.

But he just continued to stare at her wordlessly until he moved forward, wrapping his little arms around her neck.

"Don't be scared Maman," he whispered, "I'll look after you, I promise,"

She could not help the next sob from her throat, but she pulled her little boy into a tight embrace, "We will look after each other Laurence,"

She stood while holding him, unable to leave her child, and went back to her bedroom where she gently laid him on the bed. His arms were limp as she gently placed him down – slumber had enveloped him again. She went to the wardrobe and opened it, taking out a cornflower blue dress that she would wear tomorrow to the courthouse, when her husband would be set free as the judge proclaimed him innocent. She eyed the dress contentedly; Raoul had always liked her in light colours…

She heard the door open, and she called to the maid, "Michelle, which brooch should I wear with this dress tomorrow?" and she moved over to her jewellery box, sorting through her many pieces.

Footsteps moved over to her, and her skin tingled with electricity as a deep voice not belonging to her maid answered, "I have never thought you needed adornment Mon Ange,"

Her dress fell forgotten to the carpet and she spun around to face him, her pulse racing as she stared at the man she had been responsible for destroying more than half a decade ago. Her eyes flickered to her sleeping child and then back to the Phantom, and she grabbed the vanity table to balance herself as light-headedness hit her for a moment. He moved forward to steady her but she spurned his touch, her back hitting the wall as she tried to get as far from him as she could.

"Christine-" he began, but she moved from the wall in an attempt to run.

In one swift movement he grabbed her hand and spun her around, crushing her body to his. She opened her mouth to scream, but at once his gloved hand firmly covered her mouth, while his other arm secured around her waist to prevent her from escaping his clutch. She struggled viciously, her elbow hitting his chest, but it made no difference. He heard a muffled grunt of frustration as she tried to stamp his foot, but even that assault did nothing to deter him. He continued to hold her firmly, until she gave up squirming frantically. She slumped against him as if resigned, and tears trickled down her face in exasperation.

"Sssh Christine, sssh..." he murmured softly in her ear.

A small sob left her, but he knew that now she was willing to be compliant. He moved them both over to the stool by the vanity table and gently sat her down, removing his hand from her mouth and wiping the few tears that had stained her cheeks. She was clutching the material of her dress so tightly, her knuckles had gone a sickly white.

"I am not here to hurt you," he whispered soothingly.

They stared at each other as time stood still for what seemed an eternity, and finally her eyes levelled to his with a hint of iron he had never seen in her before. Her voice was sure and firm, and only a trace of fear could be heard in her words.

"I know you mean me no harm," she said softly, so as not to wake her child, "But if you do not leave in five seconds I will scream and alert the whole manor that there is an intruder in my home. I cannot see you; I do not need this, not now!"


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks for the reviews people!!

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**Chapter Five.**

Laurence stirred, groaning softly as he groggily opened his eyes. He turned his head, recognising the burgundy bed sheets which belonged to his Mother and Father. He rubbed his eyes and sat up. He turned his head looking for his Mother and cried out startled when he saw a strange man standing in front of her.

As soon as he cried out, Christine spun her head to face him, and her eyes widened in dismay when she saw he had woken. She stood at once and moved over to him, picking him up and murmured soothing words, but the boy did not move his eyes from the very tall man who was staring back.

"Who is that?" he asked, looking up at his Mother. In his innocence, he did not understand the trepidation in her eyes, but he sensed her uneasiness and at once he turned back to the stranger who was the cause of his Mother's distress, with accusing eyes.

"A very old friend of mine, Laurence…An old friend who is going to leave," Christine answered carefully and moved back over to the vanity stool, where she sat down. She looked back up at the man sharply, "Aren't you?"

The Phantom looked at her, his face neutral of any emotion, and he opened his mouth to reply when Laurence suddenly asked as he eyed the Phantom's garb, "Are you a priest, Monsieur?"

The Phantom looked down at the little one, so much like his Father it disturbed him. He bent down to the child's height, and shook his head as he answered, "No le petite, I have just dressed up as one tonight,"

Laurence nodded his head in understanding, "Have you been to a party? Papa and Maman dressed up to go to a party once. Maman went as Lady Guin – Guine…Guinevere, and Papa was a knight, with his best sword," before the Phantom had time to answer the question, the boy's eyes narrowed and he asked suddenly, "How do you know Maman?"

The Phantom didn't resist the urge to smile at the child's protective instinct and he answered truthfully, "I was your Mother's music teacher once upon a time, my boy. I taught her to sing. A very long time ago, before you were born,"

Laurence nodded, and tilted his head, "Are you the Angel of Music, Monsieur?"

The Phantom's eyes flickered to Christine, who was shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. She cleared her throat nervously as she gently combed her fingers through her son's flaxen hair, "He likes to hear stories…"

The Phantom turned his eyes back to Laurence, "I was called that a long time ago…But not now,"

Laurence nodded soberly, "How did you lose your wings?"

"Laurence…" Christine murmured, "That is enough questions, come, I shall take you back to your room,"

But now the child was fully interested and he did not want to move. He pointed to Erik's mask, "What is that?"

"Laurence!" Christine hurried to chide her son, and at once she stood to take him from the room.

"Maman..." Laurence objected sourly.

She moved a few steps forward, but the Phantom took her arm, "Christine!"

At once she froze, her eyes locked onto the Phantom shocked, her arms around her son tightening. Laurence looked at confusion at his Mother, and then back at the Phantom, his initial suspicion back in full force. He moved his hand and pushed the Phantom's hand from his Mother's arm. And the Phantom did not have trouble translating the look on the boy's face – from the firm set of his mouth to the frost in his eyes, it all read very clearly – _Do not touch my Mother again!  
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"Christine…I have been to see Raoul," he suddenly said, and was relieved when he caught signs that he had won her attention.

"Papa," Laurence said excitedly, turning his face to his Mother, "Is Papa coming home soon?"

Christine watched the Phantom suspiciously for a moment, battling within herself, uncertain what to do. Finally she sighed, resting her chin on her son's curls, "I do not know Laurence…" then she placed him down on the ground, "Go ask Michelle to boil a pot of tea and to bring it to the sitting-room,"

She waited for her son to leave the room, his steps light with the excitement that this man had news of his Father. She then turned to the Phantom, her tone sharper and more confident than it had been before when she demanded he leave her premises, "Very well, you may stay for an hour. But what is it that you want?"


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you for the lovely reviews!

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**Chapter Six.**

The Phantom looked down at Christine solemnly, weighing her with his eyes. Her own dark eyes had once been so soft, and now they held iron.

_Did I break your gentle nature?_ he asked himself.

The last time he had seen her - when the boy had taken her in the boat - he had seen pure fear. But fear, once it is embedded into the soul for too long, always twists itself into bitterness and cold cynicism. He could have wept – he had always treasured her innocence…And he only had himself to blame for her transformation. Life had been cruel to her even as a young child, had taken both her parents, had given her the stigma of being an orphan...But he remembered so well, her praying earnestly as a child. She had always trusted her God that He would care for her. Even though she had always had that air of being lost and vulnerable, she had always held her faith securely. The Phantom wondered if (and hoped) she still prayed…

"Christine, I need to know that you are well," he said.

"Yes, thank you. I am very well," she answered tritely, her face a picture of common courtesy.

How would he be able to make her discard that damned veil which concealed her true thoughts?

"I don't believe you…" he replied quietly.

He saw her stiffen slightly, obviously affronted by his honesty.

"You do not need to lie to me," he added kindly, tentatively moving his hand to take hers.

She moved her hand away, brushing away a renegade curl infront of her ear, a subtle guise which masked her avoiding his touch.

"With all do respect, you are not one to talk of honesty with such gravity," she replied, not cruelly. Her words held no spite, but a clear indication that she would not be intimidated into giving her thoughts away.

He nodded slightly, finding the whole scenario rather surreal. Christine, _his_ Christine was refusing to back down. The same girl that used to apologise profusely if she were five minutes late to her singing lesson.

"Anyway," she continued with a sigh, "We must make our way to the sitting-room. Michelle is always efficient and will be getting the tea quickly, and it would not do me or my husband well if a rumour began by one of the maids that a strange man had been in my room,"

She gestured for him to follow and they left the bedroom and down the corridor to a large sitting-room.

"Please, have a seat," she said courteously, and motioned to a settee.

Soon the maid came in, a short and plump motherly woman with silver hair tied tightly in a hairnet, who smiled at Christine as she set the tray down.

"Thank you Michelle," Christine returned the smile, a touch of her former softness Erik recognised from her youth, returning for a moment.

The maid curtsied and shuffled from the room, her eyes sliding over the Phantom with no sign of emotion. Her many years of serving families of aristocracy had imprinted in her the habit of not asking questions.

"Would you like some tea?" Christine moved over to the tray, and picked up the teapot.

"Yes, thank you," he nodded, and she poured the hot water into a teacup.

"How many sugars?" she asked, and suddenly without warning her hand flew to her mouth.

"Christine, what is it?" the Phantom asked, standing quickly. For a moment he thought she was crying, and indeed she was – a few tears sprinkled down her cheeks – but she was laughing softly at the same time.

"Christine…" he stepped towards her, but she waved his worry away with her hand.

"Forgive me," she murmured, wiping her tears with her hands, "But a thought just came to me…"

The Phantom pulled a scarlet handkerchief from his coat pocket and held it out.

"No…Thank you, but I am fine,"

The moment was awkward as he placed the handkerchief back in his coat pocket.

"What were you thinking?" he asked curiously.

Christine hesitated before she explained herself, "I just realised you taught me to sing for years, you know everything about me, every secret fear, yet I do not know how many sugars you take in your tea…I do not even know your name,"

The Phantom stood there for a moment, and finally nodded, "Anything you would like to know about me Christine, you just need to ask,"

Christine tilted her head thoughtfully, "I suppose we can start with the sugar…How many do you have in your tea?"

"I take none," he answered, and took the small periwinkle blue teacup when she held it out.

"Christine?" he asked, as she made herself a cup of tea.

"Yes?" she looked up, her eyes meeting his.

"My name is Erik,"

And Christine smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you to those who reviewd!! Heehee, I love reviews...

And GerrysJackie, I'll update All He Ever Wanted soon.

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**Chapter 7.**

Christine took a sip of her tea and slowly made her way to the settee where she sat down.

"Please…" she said quietly, "You said you saw my husband. Tell me truthfully, how is he faring? I…I see him every chance I am able, but I fear they are not too generous with the quantity of visits one is allowed to receive,"

Erik nodded and opened his mouth to answer, but closed it when he spied movement from the corner of his eye. A small smile twitched his lips, and slowly he brought his finger to his mouth.

Christine looked at him confused, "What…?"

Erik moved over to a lounge chair in the corner of the room and quickly reached out behind it and pulled out a rather frightened looking child, who looked up wide-eyed when he had been caught.

"It seems," Erik turned to a shocked Christine, "That we have fallen upon an eavesdropper,"

Christine placed her teacup and saucer onto a table beside the settee and stood, her face stern and merciless, her arms folded.

"Laurence De Chagny, I am _appalled_," she said severely, and then pointed to the doorway, "We will discuss this tomorrow morning, now it is time for bed,"

The little boy squirmed, tugging his cotton shirt fretfully, "But Maman –"

"I said _bed _Laurence, and if you do not hurry up, your toy soldiers will have to make do trying to conquer my wardrobe for the rest of the week. My _locked_ wardrobe,"

It was no use. His Mother would not hear any excuses – but she wouldn't do such a cruel thing as to take his soldiers away?

Would she?

Laurence eyed her warily, weighing her stance carefully. Well, he shouldn't push her too far…She certainly _looked_ serious…And it would be very off-putting having to explain to the little tin men that they would have to come from their courageous spot under his bed and defeat his toy cupboard another time. Not when they had come so far, all the way from the top of the staircase down the hallway from his nursery. They were already unsettled with the loss of their captain, who was on leave in Laurence's pocket.

But…But it wasn't fair!

"It's not fair!" he blurted out, and for a moment he looked up in accusation at Erik who had given away his hiding place. Then he looked at his Mother beseechingly, "He's seen Papa. _I_ want to see Papa! You don't tell me anything!"

For a moment her face softened and her arms fell limp to her side. She saw the distressed look on her son's face, and her heart wrenched.

"Laurie…" she sighed wearily, "I have told you before, you will see your Father when you are able too,"

Tears welled up in the child's eyes, "But _why _isn't he coming home? He promised he'd take me sailing on his boat! We have to put the tinsel on the Christmas tree before Father Christmas comes! When is he coming home Maman, _when?"_

Erik saw Christine struggling to fight her own tears, "Soon _le petite_. He'll be home soon," she bent down and held her arms out, "Come. I will take you to bed now, and after this man tells me everything he knows, I will be able to tell you tomorrow,"

Laurence tentatively moved forward, "Do you promise?"

"Laurie, I don't make it a habit to lie to you, now do I?"

Laurence finally nodded slowly, and then looked up at Erik again, "Will you be back again?"

"No," Christine answered quickly, folding her arms again. Erik and Laurence looked at her, surprised at her certainty.

"If…If it is all right," Erik licked his lips nervously, "I am rather wanting company…"

"I am very busy at the moment," Christine said shortly.

"Please, Christine…" Erik said softly.

Laurence looked at both of them, then added his two-cents worth, "Yes, please can he come again Maman? He can tell us more about Papa," he looked up at him again, "He can bring him home, can't you Monsieur? You look awfully big enough,"

Christine blinked a few times, "We shall see Laurence, we shall see…But it is time for little ones to be in bed,"

Laurence sighed and before he made his way over, he fumbled in his shirt pocket and pulled out the toy captain soldier. The soldier was dressed smartly in red, and held bravely a small matchstick rifle. "Please give this to Papa?" he held it up.

Erik looked down at the solemn child, and then nodded slowly, "Of course," he took the tin soldier and placed him in his breast pocket. Then he took Laurence's hand and shook it.

The child sighed, turning to his Mother. Every excuse for him to be up was now gone. The child took it like a man and walked over, allowing himself to be picked up and taken.

"You will have to show me the rest of your army next time Master De Chagny," Erik said as Christine opened the door to leave.

"Yes! Both my armies! I have two, but of course the red side is better," Laurence replied eagerly.

"But of course," Erik agreed, as the child and Christine left.

He sat down when they had gone, and Erik surveyed his surroundings while waiting for Christine to return. On the opposite wall were portraits that he assumed were of the De Chagny clan, but in the centre was a large portrait of the one that resided here. Christine was sitting in a chair, smiling prettily in a lilac gown, her beautiful hair tied up in the respectable fashion. The artist had captured her porcelain skin perfectly, with just a little rouge to her cheeks. She was holding her child in her lap, who was a couple of years younger, with a toy sailing boat in his arms – it was most unusual for toys to be featured in family paintings, perhaps it had been bribery to keep the imp still for the period he had to keep still? Behind Christine stood her husband, his hand protectively on her shoulder, his hair which had once been shoulder-length now cut stylishly short and neat. He was not smiling, but he had a proud and contented air in his light blue eyes, and the way Christine had clasped her ivory lace gloved hand gently over his, suggested the amount of affection between them.

_You fool!…_Erik could not help but thinking, _you could lose everything, all because of a foolish moment of anger._

"I apologise…He can be such a scamp at the best of times,"

Erik turned back to look at Christine as she reappeared. She smiled politely and sat back down, "He takes after his Father," she tried to jest, "I hold no responsibility over his mischievousness,"

Erik smiled courteously as he took another sip of his tea.

"How is my husband?" she asked quietly, all pretence of calm gone, replaced with seriousness.

"As well as can be expected…" Erik answered slowly, "I will not pretend that he was pleased to see me,"

Christine nodded, and stared fixedly at her tea. A tear slid down her cheek and plopped into the hot beverage.

"I suppose…" she swallowed nervously, and took a breath to compose her trembling words, "I suppose you want to know what happened?"

Erik said nothing in reply, he just nodded slowly.

"My husband is not a cold-blooded murderer," she looked at him sharply, but the harshness of her look was ruined with a few more tears, "It…It all started long before the final event…Before we were wed infact…"

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Hehe, okay, I'm sorry. Answers in the next chapter which will be up sometime very soon. Promise. I just like writing random little chapters...I feel it kind of brings out my characters a bit...Others just find it irritating. :) 


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you to those who reviewed! Aw, I really get so excited waking up and seeing the reviews. Thank you! And you all love Laurence! Yay!!

And Gerry'sJackie...I uh...Well...The story profile says it's going to be E/C...Heehee.

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**Chapter Eight.**

"It…It all started long before the final event…Before we were wed infact…"

Erik watched as Christine looked ahead, her thoughts leaving the sitting room as she remembered vividly the memories that had led up to her husband being arrested. She spoke, but not to Erik, more to herself and as her hands shook slightly, Erik moved forward and gently removed the teacup from her grasp. Her hands dropped limply to her lap…

"I was not welcomed into the family, and really I suppose I can't blame them for their wariness after the whole Opera Populaire scandal…I only blame them for how they treated Raoul. He adored his brother Philippe, and his family very well knew it. They used that to emotionally blackmail him – only they didn't realize he would not take the bait…As much as it pained him – he was always stubborn when he thought he was doing the right thing…"

* * *

_Christine waved goodbye to her best friend Meg Giry, who was driven off in a hansom after a day of shopping. Christine would return to the Giry's later that evening after dinner, of course she lived with them – she would until the wedding, but she spent as much time as she could with her fiancé. She was on the doorstep of Raoul's chateaux – a pretty little manor that Raoul's Grandmother had left for him in her will. Romantic and charming, with vines clinging to the walls, Raoul had always said it was only a modest home, one in which would one day be relegated as their summer retreat when he inherited his fortune at the age of twenty-five and bought them a full estate. He loved the chateaux for sentimental reasons, because his childhood featured many a happy memory in these walls and in the grounds, but he always told Christine that his family would enjoy a larger place of residence. Christine herself would be more than happy to live in such a dwelling, and never understood why her simple taste seemed to amuse Raoul._

_She stepped through the doorway, holding her shopping bags, and quietly placed them down on the floor. She would give anything to be able to put her coat away before the butler – too late, she softly sighed as Francis came to her, and she took off her pale pink coat, giving it to him._

"_Francis, is Raoul in his study?" she asked._

"_Yes Mademoiselle Daae, with his brother, the Compte De Chagny," the older man answered._

"_His brother?" Christine asked surprised, and a little troubled. Whenever Philippe deigned the chateaux with his presence, Raoul was always left to dwell in melancholy when he left. No doubt he was doing his best to try and end their engagement once again. _

_Christine sighed, she had best go support her fiancé. She climbed the stairs to Raoul's study, but hesitated when she raised her hand to knock on the door._

"…_For goodness sake Raoul! You are making a spectacle of the family, consorting with the likes of Christine Daae!" Philippe was saying exasperated._

"_Oh, I see," Raoul was murmuring quietly, and Christine had to press her ear against the door to fully hear him, "So, it is all very well to bed young women of another class, but another thing to fall in love with one?"_

"_Fall in love! Bah!" Philippe laughed, "You are not yet twenty for another year, you are a child, you know nothing about love!"_

"_All of our sisters were wed by that age if I am correct," Raoul replied dryly. _

"_They are_ women _Raoul, of course they would be married at such a young age…" Philippe sighed, and his next words were kind, "Raoul…For goodness sake – travel for a while, you've yet to see the world…Make your mark, and then find a good woman to marry, in a few years time. You are so young…"_

"_Philippe…You are my brother, and I respect your wisdom, but this is a decision I cannot go back on –" Raoul began._

"Cannot?_ Why the hell not?" Philippe protested, "She may have her claws in you, but she doesn't have the noose tied around your neck yet! End this foolish engagement!"_

"_Philippe, I love her!"_

_There was a pause, and then Philippe sighed, "I know you think you do, but Raoul…Please, listen to me. Wait a couple of years, otherwise you will live to regret this-"_

"_I won't Philippe! But…But if I do, then I will have only myself to blame. But if you have your way, and I put off this engagement, believe me when I say this Philippe, I will live to regret it – and I will always blame you," Raoul said finally, "Now please – I've really had enough. Don't resent me for this, please…Have a drink, and let's talk on other things,"_

_Footsteps were making their way to the door, and Christine sprang back into the room beside Raoul's study to avoid being detected._

"_Foolish boy," she heard him mutter as he stormed through the hall and down the stairs._

_Christine peeked her head from the doorway, and saw Raoul standing at the top of the stairs, leaning wearily against the banister as he watched his brother depart the house with a slam of the front door._

_Christine tentatively moved forward, and he jumped a little when she gently entwined her arms around his waist. Then he relaxed and moved his head to lean against her shoulder fondly. He then frowned, "You heard all that…"_

"_Some of it, yes," Christine answered softly, "Oh Raoul, I'm sorry. It's all a mess isn't it? And it's all because of me…"_

_He turned to her at once, pulling her tightly in his arms, and she buried her face in his blue embroidered vest. A faint smile met her lips at the scent of his familiar cologne, "It isn't your fault at all Lotte, do you hear me?" he rested his head on her curls, "I am so much younger than they…Philippe was seventeen when I was born, they still think of me as a child. You're not to blame for him and his stubborn ways,"_

_Christine looked up at Raoul's face, who was smiling down on her soothingly, "But Raoul…What..What will they do? They really don't want you to marry me,"_

_Raoul shrugged, "Ah, maybe threaten to cut my inheritance. But it will never really happen. They'll come around, don't worry," _

_Christine lowered her head, burying it in his shirt again, "I hope so, Raoul…"_

* * *

_Raoul crumpled a letter he had been reading angrily and threw it into the roaring fire place, "The bastard…"_

_Christine looked up from the embroidery she was undertaking, "Raoul, what is it?"_

_Raoul did not answer for a moment, he rubbed his forehead with his palm frustratingly, "He's not giving me leave from the business to go on our honeymoon. He's not even letting me have the day off to marry you!" with a cry of anger, his fist slammed into the wall, and with the sudden jolt of pain, he was inspired to yell even more harshly, "The BASTARD!!"_

_Christine jumped to her feet and dashed over to her distraught love, bringing him close and whispering words of comfort. It pained her to see him like this – oh why were they making him choose between the two most important things to him?_

"_We don't need to go on a honeymoon Raoul, and we can marry on a Sunday after church. One of the days you don't work," she tried to comfort him._

_But he moved away from her and grabbed his coat from a chair roughly, "I will not be trifled with! I am going to his office and telling him exactly what I think!"_

"_Raoul, no –" Christine sighed, but it was no use. He was in too much of an angered frenzy to take notice of anything else, and he was gone._

_She sat for the next hour, waiting for him to return, hoping against everything he was not too distressed. The butler arrived in the midst of her waiting, handing over a letter that had just been delivered. Christine groaned as she broke upon the seal, but forced herself to read it – a letter from Audra, Raoul's second oldest sister._

_It read –_

"Christine,

What good would come of this marriage? Pray tell me Mademoiselle. You are but a chorus singer who enjoyed a short spout of fame, and now is relegated to infamy and scandal. My brother is a good man – impressionable and naïve – if you care for him at all, you will end this…"

_That is as far as Christine read, as a sob racked her body and the letter slipped from her lap to the floor. All this persistent negativity…And maybe they were right…Since she had met up with Raoul again after childhood, he had risked everything – his life, his pride, his reputation – and all for her. What had she done in return to deserve such a gem? _

_Which is why when Raoul returned, he found his fiancée curled up on the lounge, weeping softly._

_"I managed to convince him..." he began, but his__ frustration at the meeting he had had with his brother melted at once and he knelt down, "Lotte…"_

_He spied the letter on the floor and went to pick it up but she beat him to it, snatching it from the carpet, "It doesn't matter Raoul!"_

"_Of course it does," he said roughly, and took it from her. His eyes scanned the words and his face darkened._

"_Please Raoul, this needs to end…" she said in between sobs, "I've had enough, and they are right –"_

"_They are not right! Look at me!" gently he took her face and tilted it to him, "You are worth ten of them! A hundred! We don't need them, do you hear me?"_

_His light blue eyes, usually cheerful, were alight with unbending determination. She closed her eyes, "I'm tired of fighting Raoul…So weary of it all,"_

_He managed a smile and brushed his lips over the tip of her nose, "We'll stop fighting then. What's the worst they can do?"_

_

* * *

__Years flew by, Christine and Raoul wed and brought a little boy into the world. As Christine slept after the long labour, Raoul cradled their babe in his arms, mesmerized. He moved forward and kissed his wife on her forehead, "Thank you Lotte. He's perfect,"_

_He did not mean to wake her, but she stirred and looked up at him with a weary smile. Raoul leant his cheek beside hers, his tears falling on her soft skin._

"_Laurence…Laurence after my Father, and Philippe after my brother…" he scattered kisses over her face, "Thank you for letting me name him…"_

"_Do you think Philippe will come see him?" Christine murmured._

"_Oh yes," Raoul nodded, "He just needed time to adjust to me going against his wishes. We have a beautiful little boy – the only male De Chagny heir. Of course he will come,"_

_A few days later there was a knock on the door, and Philippe stepped in. Raoul excitedly brought him up to Christine's bedroom. She turned her head from where she was lying, and managed a smile. Depression was weighing her soul, but the joy Raoul exhibited in his eyes at his brother coming lightened her heart a little._

_Raoul gently took Laurence from his cradle, and held him out to Philippe. Philippe took the babe uncertainly, but a smile crept over his face at the little one._

"_Well done, Raoul," Philippe congratulated his little brother, and nodded curtly to Christine, "He's a mighty fine little boy,"_

"_Isn't he?" Raoul grinned happily, "I'm very proud of him…Philippe, I'm a Father!" _

"Mmm…" Philippe held the child back out, and Raoul took his son, crooning as the babe cried a little.

"_Do stay for tea, Philippe," Raoul begged, "I haven't seen you in so long…"_

"_I am sorry Raoul," Philippe answered politely, "I have an engagement I cannot break. I just popped in to see the child," _

"_Philippe…"_

"_Do not trouble yourself with letting me out, I know the way," for a moment, he looked affectionately at Raoul, "Congratulations _petit frère,_"_

_As he left the room, Christine moved forward, fumbling for his hand, she squeezed it tightly. Her husband did not turn to her, but she knew tears were rolling down his face._

_

* * *

_

_Laurence was three years of age, and writhing as he sobbed in his bed, from the fever that racked his tiny body._

"_Maman! My throat hurts!" he sobbed, and when Christine bent to dab at his forehead with a damp cloth, he clung to her tightly._

"_Raoul," she said alarmed as she unbuttoned the little boy's shirt, "Look at this rash! My God! I think the Doctor is wrong, it has to be more than a fever!"_

_Raoul came over from the corner of the room, and his eyes widened when he saw dark red, almost purple splotches patterned over his son's small body. He turned to Christine alarmed, "He said the fever should be down by now," he bent down and scooped his child in his arms, rocking him gently in an attempt to calm him._

_There was a knock at the door and the butler entered, "There is a visitor –" he tried to say between Laurence's loud sobs._

_Raoul turned to him angrily, "Do you think this is a time for entertaining visitors you imbecile?" but his words died down when he saw Philippe step in the room._

_It had been three years._

"_What the hell do you want?" Raoul spat angrily, his former sorrow had turned to bitterness a long time ago._

"_I heard the little one was ill," Philippe murmured softly._

"_Oh did you? –" Raoul began, but he stopped when Christine gently placed her hand over his arm._

"_I have brought my physician with me," Philippe motioned for an older man to step in._

"_We have our own physician, thank you," Raoul answered crisply._

"_Dr. Edel? He is a lousy drunk…I will lend you Pierre," Philippe said with a no-nonsense air._

_Raoul looked over at Christine, and after a moment she slowly nodded._

_Twenty minutes later, the newly assigned Doctor came down the stairs where Christine, Raoul and Philippe were having tea._

"_It is certainly no normal ailment of childhood," Pierre said in distaste at the other Doctor's poor diagnosis, "The child has Scarlet Fever. Very dangerous. If it is alright with you, I would like to start him on Penicillium_._at once," _

_Raoul slowly nodded, "Will he be all right?"_

"_Yes, but it is just as well I came today," Pierre answered._

"_Thank you…" Raoul stood up, and shook the Doctor's hand heartily, "Thank you very much!"_

_After he had gone, and they were all back in Laurence's room, Christine watched as Philippe and Raoul sat on either side of the sleeping child's bed._

_Philippe gently brushed his hand through Laurence's hair, "You know, I remember once when you were very ill as a small child,"_

"_I don't," Raoul answered brusquely._

_Philippe smiled slightly, "Well you wouldn't. You were barely two years of age. But oh how you vexed our poor Mother…"_

_Raoul looked down uncomfortably, fiddling with Laurence's bedsheets, "I've missed you Philippe…"_

_Philippe did not answer, but the child stirred at that moment, and looked groggily back up at him, "Who are you?" he slurred._

"_I am your Uncle, Laurence. Your Uncle Philippe," he answered softly, swallowing at a lump in his throat which had oddly formed after the boy did not recognize him._

"_Oh," Laurence turned, and saw his Father looking at him with a smile._

"_You will be fine le petite," Raoul murmured, and leaned forward kissing his son on the cheek. The child giggled at the roughness of his Father's cheek, but closed his eyes moments later, as slumber enticed him again._

_Philippe stood to go, collecting his coat, "I must go Raoul,"_

"_When will you be back?" Raoul asked, looking at him._

"_I don't know," Philippe answered slowly._

_Raoul turned back to his son, "No, I didn't expect you would," he muttered coldly._

* * *

_Raoul held Christine in his arms two years later in his study, his head nestled on her stomach, "I can't quite believe I'm twenty five…" he murmured._

"_Mmm…" Christine chuckled, "Practically ancient,"_

_Raoul smiled and sat up, bending over he ravished her lips, "I wish I didn't have to go out to look at the ships," he complained, "I'd much rather stay here," he pulled a face._

"_Yes well, dinner will be ready once you return," Christine said and smiled wickedly, "And dessert…"_

_Raoul laughed, kissed his wife and went downstairs, buttoning his coat._

"_Monsieur, you have just had a letter arrive," the butler said, holding out a silver tray. _

_Raoul took the letter which was offered, and curiously opened the envelope – it was the De Chagny seal. It was from his brother. Most likely it was something to do with business – but no…It was a letter requesting he come visit his brother the next week…_

"_Raoul, what is it?" Christine asked from the top of the stairs._

"_A letter from Philippe…He is ill, he wants to see me," Raoul said surprised._

_Christine smiled, "You had best go and see him when he said, then,"_

"_Yes, I suppose I must…" Raoul sighed, nothing to get excited over though, he's probably just needing to see me about my inheritance,"_

* * *

_Christine was nodding off to sleep a week later, as the clock chimed 1 in the morning. Where was Raoul? She vaguely thought, He left here to go to Philippe's five hours ago…Never mind, maybe they had mended their differences and had forgotten the time…_

_A banging on the front door had her jolt upright. Whoever would be knocking on the door at this ungodly hour?_

_She raced through the house to the foyer, where the butler was letting the police in._

_What in the hell…?_

"_Madame, is the Vicompte here?" one of the policeman asked._

"_No…No, why? What are you doing here?" Christine stuttered._

_The policeman looked at her disbelievingly, "Madame, are you very sure about that answer?"_

_Christine blinked in confusion, "Why would I be lying? What do you want with my husband? What has happened?"_

"_Do you have any idea where he was tonight?" the policeman asked._

"_Well, y…Yes, he was at his brother's, the Compte De Chagny," Christine answered, her eyes widening, "What do you want?!"_

_The policeman seemed to be satisfied with her answer, but pulled out of his coat a piece of parchment, "The arrest of your husband, for the death of the Compte Philippe De Chagny,"_

_Everything seemed to be in a whirl, Christine tried to swallow, and her hands went to her face, "I don't know what you are talking about…"_

"_His corpse was found in the study of his estate, a wound to the back of the head. Your husband was presumably the last one to see him," the policeman explained._

_Christine managed to laugh, despite the fear surging through her, "But that's silly. My husband would not hurt Philippe, he's his brother!"_

"_I understand they have been estranged for some time?" the policeman asked._

"_Well, yes, but…But this is absurd!" Christine was breathing heavily, and pressed her hands to her stomach to try and calm her nerves, "Raoul wouldn't hurt anybody!"_

"_Since you have nothing to hide, you would not mind us taking a look around the estate?" the policeman asked._

"_But…But it is late!" Christine protested._

"_I thought you had nothing to hide, Madame?" the policeman asked with a smirk._

_Christine's face darkened, the smugness in his words calming her hysteria a little to anger, "I don't! My son is asleep!"_

"_Well, we will make sure we will not disturb what does not need to be disturbed," the policeman answered and gestured for his men to get to work._

_Christine quickly made her way up to her son's nursery, where his nurse lay asleep. One of the few arguments with her husband was about hiring a nurse. Christine had been dead set against it. But as she instructed the girl to not let Laurence out of the room under any circumstance, she was grateful to her husband for having put his foot down…_

_She was pacing her bedroom fretfully, biting her nails – a habit she hadn't done since childhood, when she heard the quiet knocking on the window. She looked at the door nervously, and then quickly ran over to the window where she unlatched it and let her husband in._

_She let out a sob when she saw his ashen face, and the blood stains on his vest._

"_Oh my God, tell me it's not true!" she wept as her hands flew to her face, "Raoul, what have you done?"_

"_Christine…" he let out his own sob, and pulled her to him, crushing her tightly. His next words were inaudible in his frenzied panic, but she managed to understand one or two words – "Philippe is dead!"_

_His eyes were haunted, and his cheeks were stained with tears. He couldn't stop shaking._

"_It was an accident," he managed to splutter, "He wanted to see me because he was…Cutting my inheritance…We argued…We argued, and then – and then I pushed him. Christine, it was an accident!" his voice trailed off, and his body slumped against her. The weight against him nearly made her stagger, and she slowly lowered him to the floor, where he rocked backwards and forwards, his face buried in her chest. _

"_I didn't know where to go…" he sobbed, "I ran…I ran…"_

"_Sssh," she crooned, planting kisses over his face, not caring for the blood which stained her own clothes, "It'll be all right, it'll be all right…"_

_But she did not know what to say. She had never been in such fear in her life, and she wanted to fall apart herself._

"_The police…I saw the police here…Christine, what am I to do?" he looked at her, and she froze when she realized, he yearned for her to tell him what to do._

_She did not know how to answer him. But at that moment the door opened, and the policeman who had spoken to her smiled when he saw them, "How touching – a reunion. De Chagny, you are under arrest for the murder of your brother, the Compte Philippe De Chagny,"_

_There was no denial, no pleas, nothing. Just her husband brokenly getting to his feet and allowing himself to be thrown against the wall, where he was searched for weapons._

_Her husband was being arrested for murder. Her beautiful, darling Raoul – and he was not denying it! This had to be some sick, twisted nightmare!_

"_Please…" he managed to slur as the policeman took out a pair of handcuffs, "Please handcuff me outside," he could not look at Christine, and his eyes were lowered to the floor._

"_As you wish," the policeman nodded with a shrug. He had not resisted arrest, so this request could be accepted._

_Christine lunged forward with a hysterical cry, as she grabbed him, when Raoul was escorted out the room._

"_NO!" she screamed, "You will not take my husband! You will NOT TAKE MY HUSBAND!"_

_She feebly pummeled the policeman, but it was to no avail, as another restrained her._

"_No, please, it's a mistake! Raoul! Tell them it's a mistake!"_

_But her husband remained silent as he was taken down the stairs and out the house. When she was left alone, she stumbled after, nearly falling down the stairs. She raced to the window beside the foyer, and through the netting, saw her husband being handcuffed and led to the carriage._

"_It's a mistake!" she sobbed again, but her legs gave way from under her, and she lay on the floor, as tears bled from her soul._

* * *

"It was a mistake…" fresh tears slipped from Christine's eyes now, raw and bloodshot, "How is it that everyone else is afforded the luxury of denial, Erik?" she turned to the Phantom, "No matter how many times I told that to myself, I knew the truth. Raoul killed his brother," 


	9. Chapter 9

Thank you everyoooooooooooooooone!!!! Not a very good chapter, but I promise a better one next time.

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**Chapter Nine.**

Christine's hand slowly wavered to her mouth as it trembled a little, her face waxen and pale.

"Forgive me…" she murmured, trying to hold back tears, and quickly stood, "I need to go check on my son,"

"Christine," he stood at once to take her arm, to try and offer her comfort, but she quickly moved from the room, leaving Erik to ponder over everything she had just told him. The unexpected thing to all this, Erik thought, is he just assumed that with the boy Christine would be able to have the life of comfort and security she deserved. He never dreamed there would be all these complications…

She returned a little while later, composed and dignified, her face neutral, but still pale. She chose to stand by the window, and for a few moments there was silence.

"Your son does not know any of this?" Erik asked, breaking the quiet.

"No, of course not," Christine replied, "But I fear he suspects something is amiss. How can he not? He is a curious child…"

"Like his Mother," Erik said with a wry grin.

Christine shrugged slightly, "Curiosity has never done me any favours…I wish he could just think on other things – but he knows something is not right. His eyes – his damned eyes ask too much," she started to pace the carpet, wringing her hands, "I am not capable of this. How can I reassure him when I myself am weighed with dread? I tell myself Raoul will come home, that all will be well, but what if it doesn't happen the way I wish it would? Oh, you should see him in court…The sly wretch has Fletcher Dumas keep me away most of the time, but when I am able to go, he doesn't even want to fight! His lawyer tries his best, but how can he convince a court when Raoul himself thinks he deserves whatever is dealt? The prosecution does not even need to try and trip him up with his words, whenever they cross-examine him, he doesn't even put up a fight. What ever am I going to do? This whole ordeal was an accident, but he – he – " she let out a cry, a frustrated cry, and went to the lounge where she sank down, and rested her head on the arm of the chair.

She sniffled hopelessly, "I pray as hard as I can, but murder _is_ a sin – how can I expect God to listen? But oh, my husband is a good man. A kind man. Laurence deserves to have a Father like him – I cannot bear to think of the alternative. It took me years to finally stop grieving my own Father's death, how can I comfort a child, tell them all will be well when I myself know words do nothing to ease the pain? I do not want my child to go through what I went through…To put his hopes in a fantasy world which does not really exist…He is already too much like me for his own good…" she closed her eyes tightly, her voice softening, "But why should I worry over things that might not happen? Raoul is a good man…The court will see that…" her own words did not sound convinced.

The man beside her looked at the young woman, trying to find comfort in herself. His heart wrenched, and his hand tentatively moved to her arm, gently took it, and for some bizarre reason she did not pull away. He was _touching_ her – besides a few moments in the past, he had never been able to do such a thing. Always there had been a wall or mirror separating them. She turned to him, her eyes welling with tears.

"Christine…" he murmured, and with a sob she slowly moved over to him, burying her face in his vest.

His other hand, which had never comforted anybody before moved to her back, where he rubbed it gently as he murmured soft soothing words.

Then like he had done for so many years, he hummed gently, letting the song lull her into its embrace. And for that short moment, she gave in, and was silent – all but for her tears.

It was when the humming slowly took shape into words, and he sang softly into her ear that she tore herself away from him, panting heavily, her eyes full of fear, that the spell was broken.

Her hands were on her stomach as she tried to calm herself, "Leave," her tone was frantic, "After everything – you _cannot_ – how could you? Just leave!"

Forgetting the fundamentals of basic courtesy, she stumbled from the room, and left him there alone.


	10. Chapter 10

_Thank you guys!! Your reviews always brighten up my mornings._

_To those pissed off at Christine (Hey look, I hate her too), you gotta look at it this way - Raoul himself even said "She loves us both Monsieur Le Fantôme,"_

_I think the reason why she's so cold is she'd dead scared of him. And not because he could harm her, but because...Well...Think of Point of No Return, think of Music of the Night, think of the Phantom song...She's supposed to be married to Raoul, she's supposed to be faithful to Raoul, she kind of doesn't need this crap right now._

_

* * *

_

_Chapter Ten._

Crimson poured through the bars of the cell as the new day was born, and spilled onto the cold cement floor. Raoul had huddled into himself on his cell bed, shaking slightly from the cold – and the trepidation which befell him for his upcoming sentence. Thoughts of the night before polarised themselves behind his eyes - the Phantom throwing him against the wall…He had gone to his wife, what had happened? He tried not to think about the Phantom's arms entwined around his Lotte, like what had taken place all those years ago on the stage while they performed the man's opera. He tried not to think about the spell the Phantom had always seemed to conjure over her. And instead his thoughts cast upon that wretched night that he had murdered his brother.

_Murder_ – to wilfully take a life – he had not meant for it to happen, he had loved his brother – but Philippe was dead nonetheless. And he himself was the only one responsible.

A small opening on the bottom of the cell door unbolted and came ajar, and a dish with porridge slid through.

"Might be your last meal, eh Chagny?" came the sneer of the guard, and before Raoul had time to throw a reply back (if he had even thought to do so) the footsteps of the guard faded away.

Raoul remained where he was – he barely touched the food they brought him, even when his wife had given them money to persuade them to raise the standard of the fare. Her brow creased with anxiety when she looked upon his sallow and gaunt cheeks. She pleaded him to take better care of himself, and her worry managed to penetrate into his anesthetised state. He promised her he would eat what he was given, but whenever she left, his resolve always seemed to melt as well. What was the point? Didn't he deserve death anyway?

A shudder went through his body when he thought of his brother again. His only brother, who – it could even be fair to say – had raised him more than his own Father had.

_Philippe…_

* * *

All the little boy could see were trousers. Trousers and polished shoes, and the occasional dress with silk slippers poking out from underneath. He looked up at his brother beside him, and tugged at his pant leg. 

"Philippe," he wailed, "I cannot see!"

His older brother looked down at the five year old child, and a small smile of indulgence crept over his face when he saw the ice-cream smears over Raoul's mouth.

"Here hold these. But be careful," he said firmly as he handed a pair of scarlet binoculars, rimmed with gold.

Raoul took the treasured object as carefully as if it were china – knowing his life would be all but over if he was responsible for the tiniest scratch on them. When he had hold of them, Philippe picked the boy up and placed him on his shoulders.

"Can you see now, Raoul?" he asked.

"Yes!" Raoul said eagerly, bouncing up and down in excitement.

Philippe took the binoculars back and placed them to his own eyes, "You won't tell Mother I let you bet a franc on Number 14?" he asked once again, as he surveyed the green of the race-track.

"No," Raoul shook his head adamantly, "I promised remember?"

"Good lad," Philippe said absentmindedly, "Oh look! The race is about to start!"

Everybody had gone strangely quiet, and Raoul watched intensely the gates where the horses waited behind. With a bang of the gun, the gates were opened, and more than a dozen pure-bred horses sprinted down the track, the jockeys whipping their sides, enticing their beasts to go as fast as they could. Raoul followed Number 14 who was in third place, neck in neck to a pure white. He clutched a tuft of Philippe's hair in exhilaration, and because Philippe was in agony himself over who would win (he had placed a lot more than a franc on the same beast), he didn't notice. Number 14 sped along, and was soon in second place and soon ---

Raoul let out a shout when it crossed the finishing line in first place, in childish delight. Philippe grabbed him from his shoulders and tossed him in the air, then caught him, crushing him close.

"We won my boy, we won!" he laughed, and Raoul pleased with such an unusual boisterous public show of affection from his adored sibling, laughed along too.

"Can I have another ice-cream, Philippe?" he asked fervently.

"Of course you can, Raoul. You can have as many as you like," Philippe chuckled over his little brother's innocent desire, "But you know the rules,"

Raoul nodded eagerly, "Don't tell Maman!"

* * *

Ten year old Raoul De Chagny sat in utter despair on the doorstep of his Father's mansion. He had just returned to Paris from his Family's annual holiday by the sea, and he had met the girl he intended to marry. 

_Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing…_

The little girl, a couple of years younger than he, with wild chocolate curls and a gleeful smile. He had met her as her Father played his violin for passer-byers on a street, and she had clasped her hands in his and had danced as her Father's violin summoned a spell to make Raoul's feet move light-heartedly. His sisters had smiled dotingly at the forwardness of this street urchin who had bid their little brother to dance.

"Will you dance with me again?" she had asked, looking up at him, as he moved away.

"Yes, do you often come here?" he had asked.

She had smiled, "Every day," and then she took another child's hand, twirling with them as their parents laughed, tossing coins at her feet.

A twisted cold bout of jealousy knifed the young boy as he watched her with the other child. He would come dance with her every day.

"I'm going to marry her," he had told Philippe later, who was puffing on his pipe on the terrace of their holiday home as dusk blanketed the horizon.

"Is that so?" Philippe murmured vaguely, "Pray, do tell me the girl's name,"

Raoul hesitated, "I…I do not know…" he admitted ashamed, blushing.

"Well," Philippe blew a smoke-ring and then tapped the ash of his pipe out on the ground, "That might come in handy,"

And so he had sought out her name – Christine Daae, though he called her his Lotte, from one of her Father's stories that she loved. And through that Summer, and a couple more in the future, they were inseparable. He had told her of his intentions to marry her, and she had giggled, "Father said the Angel of Music will not allow me to marry,"

"Well, I'm sure he will change his mind," Raoul said quickly.

"Maybe," she had said, and then standing on tiptoe she quickly pecked his cheek with her mouth, and scurried back off to her house.

He had given her an oriental fan of peacock blue and a violet bracelet of beads that he found in the markets, and she had given him her most treasured shell that she had found on the beach, to mark their parting.

He toyed with it as he sat by himself, and did not turn as his twenty-seven year old brother sat down next to him. He tousled Raoul's hair with a sigh, "Raoul…You may as well learn this young – you should not put your hopes on girls. They will have forgotten you the moment you walk away for more than a minute,"

Raoul said nothing for a moment, then said stubbornly, "She'll be there next year,"

Philippe smiled, "For the Summer, yes. Best to think of her as a sweetener in your holiday. Come, get that pout off your face and let's go fishing,"

Raoul stood obediently, but looked down at Philippe, "You're wrong Philippe," then he pocketed the shell and stepped into the house.

Oh, but how it pained him, the year he turned fourteen and he went once again to the sea, to the Daae cottage which was boarded up and abandoned. He stood there, his brother squeezing his shoulder, "It was nice while it lasted, right Raoul?"

He watched as the young boy trundled off to the beach and threw the shell into the calamitous waves of dark cerulean. And then he took his arm and introduced him to a lover which would never fail him – a mug of beer.

Raoul stumbled from the tavern afterwards, uncertain of the leaden way his body seemed to move. He was on his knees in an instant, hurling up the contents of his stomach. Philippe laughed good-naturedly as he hauled his brother up, who gasped and panted, "I feel so sick…"

Philippe clapped him on the back reassuringly, "You'll get a taste for it soon, my lad,"

* * *

"Chagny, half an hour until court," the Guard banged onto his cell door. 

Raoul did not answer, but covered his face with his hands hopelessly as the last memory he would ever have with Philippe came crashing over him…


	11. Chapter 11

Aaaaw, such lovely reviews! Squeeeeeeeeee. Thank you. You know what the first thing I do when I wake up? I log on here, and it brightens my day seeing your comments. Cookies for you all!!!!

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**Chapter Eleven.**

_Raoul was led in the mansion by the elderly butler Jacques, who prided himself on his professionalism and many loyal years of service to the De Chagny family. He bowed formally as he took Raoul's coat, and even though his strict discipline for austerity prevented him from showing outward displays of pleasure that the young boy he had watched grow up from an infant to a young man was stepping through his Master's estate, the glint in his eyes betrayed him. _

"_The Compte De Chagny is in his study," Jacques led Raoul through the hallway and up the staircase._

"_I hear he is not faring well?" Raoul asked._

"_His health is deteriorating, I fear," Jacques answered curtly, not saying anything more._

_They reached the door of Philippe's study, and Jacques knocked. When they heard an affirmative reply, Jacques opened the door and bowed as Raoul entered._

_Philippe had aged suddenly - Raoul noticed - as he sat behind the desk, quill in hand, poised in midair over manuscript paper. His once dark golden hair which in recent years had been spattered with silver – giving him an air of dignity – now added at least ten more years onto his age which was 42. The skin on his face was paper thin and washed out, and suddenly he coughed. Hunching over, he took a handkerchief and pressed it to his mouth as he spluttered._

_He gestured Raoul to move forward, and ordered Jacques to "bring in some tea". Jacques nodded and departed, and Raoul tentatively sat down in the seat opposite Philippe. Of course he had seen Philippe recently, had said two or three words as they crossed paths hurriedly working in the business, but it had been years since they had really sat down and spoken properly. Had this change in his brother been instantaneous? He looked so weak, and it frightened Raoul - this change in Philippe which completely contrasted the sturdy and robust man he had always been._

_They stared at each other for a moment, until Philippe broke the silence, "Your boy is well?"_

_Raoul nodded, "Very well,"_

_Philippe coughed again, and nodded, "Good…"_

_He bent his head again to write whatever it was he was working hard at, and all that could be heard was the scratching of the quill against paper. Raoul fidgeted nervously, and instantly loathed himself for it, hated that he had at once taken the role of the inferior child again._

"_Why have you summoned for me Philippe?" he asked, and was secretly pleased that he met his brother's gaze when he looked up, without faltering._

"_I am writing my will, Raoul," Philippe slowly answered, and instantly waved away the concern that exploded on his brother's face, "I'm not dying, this illness has just made me a little more aware of my mortality,"_

_Raoul said nothing, but he felt a little relieved at Philippe's reassurance. Muscles that were tense moments before relaxed, and his arms which had been folded, dropped to his lap._

"_You have just turned twenty-five," Philippe mused, and then sighed as he leant back, "I have bad news that I am afraid you will not take too well…"_

_He paused, turning his face away to the window, and his voice was full of regret when he said, "You are not going to come into your inheritance,"_

_He turned to look at his much younger brother, who's mouth was a little open, his eyes full of confusion._

"_I…I…What?!" Raoul stammered._

_At that moment Jacques came in with the tea, and the silence between them was as poisonous as fungi..._

"Chagny,"

Raoul wearily stood, holding his hands out instinctively as the guard handcuffed him, and led him out of the cell. His thoughts were blurred, and his head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton wool. He walked as if he were made of lead, head down, eyes cast to his feet as he shuffled through the prison to the buggy which waited outside to escort him to the court.

It only took around ten minutes for the journey to end, and he was accompanied out of the buggy, up the steps and into the building. He ignored the throng of press who circled around him like vultures, pelting questions after questions at him, ignored the insults of the meddlesome public who had been following the case since the scandal had commenced, he just ducked his head as he stepped through, and the police pushed them back. He was shepherded into a stand, where he sat obediently, his eyes looking at nothing in particular.

They passed without thought over the public, over his distant relations who were eager to stay on side with the De Chagny clan, in case he was executed and the wealth that his brother had deprived him of would have a chance of being taken by them. He did not take notice of his lawyer who nodded at him, or his eldest sister Audra who sat there, arms folded and eyes severe. He was not aware of the middle sister Francine, who had her head bent down as she whispered to her husband beside her. He did not even take much notice of the youngest De Chagny daughter - plump, rosy-cheeked and usually merry Cherilyn – who blew her nose noisily with a handkerchief and looked at her older brother with heartbreaking remorse, tears sliding down her cheeks. She had often given him glances which suggested she still cared for him, and the privileges he had been bestowed of wearing his normal attire in prison and the extra hour he was given a day to wander the prison grounds at leisure, he had a suspicion she had something to do with, even if the guards kept tight-lipped about it. But she had never openly shown any sign that this was so, always stood in the shadows of her older sisters. He avoided her now, his eyes passing over until –

His heart lurched as he saw his wife take a seat in the front pew, and Fletcher Dumas who was accompanying her with his younger brother Ansel threw him a look of apology and a shrug. Raoul could see a red mark on Fletcher's cheek, and despite the horror he felt that she was there and would be witness to whatever fate was handed out to him, a tremor of unexpected amusement flitted through him. Had his Lotte been responsible for that?

The crowd who was packed in the courtroom like a tin of sardines did not quieten, even as the Judge made his entrance. The guards tried their best to set order in the room, but the public were too enthralled by this scandal, this horrifying tale that looked like it belonged in a sordid novel rather than humdrum reality, that brought a little colour into their dreary lives.

As the judge hammered his gavel, bellowing with the help of spittle flying from his mouth to emphasize his demand "Order!", Raoul's thoughts drifted away from the courtroom, and back to the dank memory he had been reminiscing before…


	12. Chapter 12

Aaaaaw, thanks so much you guys as always!!

jtbwriter, that person she slapped isn't his lawyer, he's Fletcher Dumas, who'll come into the story soon. Yes, I realise the story may seem to be dragging, but you kind of need to know this stuff, to understand the characters and to get what happened. Plus, I update as much as I can, so I try not to prolongue the suspense that much. I'm sorry if you're not enjoying it. But I do promise after this chapter things start happening quicker.

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**Chapter Twelve.**

_Raoul watched his brother Philippe in a mixture of baffling confusion and horror. He swallowed, and then when Jacques left the room, began again, "You…You aren't serious are you?" he laughed hollowly, "This is just a jest, isn't it?"_

_But Philippe did not look amused as he sipped his tea, "Have you ever known me to jest over such serious matters?"_

_"No, but…" Raoul leant forward, "What is this really about Philippe?"_

_"It is just as I said. I am disinheriting you," Philippe replied._

_Raoul shook his head, "But why…?" his tone sharpened, "And what makes you even think you have the right?"_

_"Our Father, he is who gave me the right Raoul," Philippe answered, "When he made me the benefactor of his will and earthly assets,"_

_Raoul slowly stood, his hand wavering to his mouth. What his brother was saying had not completely hit him yet, and his hand trembled as it fell back to his side. He walked over to the window and folded his arms as he tried to grapple with the situation._

_"Why…?" was all he could muster._

_"Why?" Philippe asked incredulously, "Don't tell me that you weren't expecting this! You've always been naïve, but never a downright imbecile!"_

_Raoul turned to him, blinking a few times in perplexity, "You're saying I should have expected this? My own brother stabbing me in the back?"_

_"Don't be melodramatic Raoul…The moment you married the girl you should have seen this coming,"_

_"Seen this coming?" Raoul moved back over suddenly, "Christ, Philippe! Why do you loathe her so? She has never done anything to deserve this. You never even deigned yourself to get to know her – but – but you know what else? That should never have even occurred to you. You should have seen that I loved her, and that should have been enough for you! My God! You know what is amusing about this? Is that she – the same girl that you think isn't even good enough to be in this family, was happy that you called me here! For years you have treated her abominably, you all have, but she has always maintained good-will towards you. She would have loved to have named Laurence after her own Father, she never said anything but I know she would have, but instead she was happy for him to be christened after Father and you! Isn't that ironic Philippe? The girl that you perceive to be ill-bred, a gold digger, shameful – that same wretch, has been a better person than all of you De Chagny's put together!"_

_Philippe went back to writing after his brother's speech, "Have you finished? Your tea is getting cold,"_

_"You bastard…" cold hatred was surging through him and Raoul turned on his heel after deciding he would not further waste anymore time on his brother's estate. But suddenly a thought flashed through him and rendered him motionless, "Laurence…"_

_He turned back to Philippe, his eyed widening, "You wouldn't punish my son, Philippe surely! It was you who sent the physician to cure him those years ago. You wouldn't deprive him of his birthright!"_

_"Of course not," Philippe looked up, "He will inherit his fortune when he reaches the age of twenty-five,"_

_Raoul slowly sank to the chair again, and he met Philippe's gaze straight, "Philippe…How am I to raise my son if you cut my inheritance? How am I to send him to school? Give him every opportunity he deserves?"_

_"You will find a way…" a flicker of repressed emotion revealed itself for a moment behind Philippe's eyes, "Raoul, this was not an easy decision…I have thought about this at length, but Audra –"_

_"Oh, Audra!" Raoul threw up his hands, "I should have known she was behind this. My dear, black-hearted oldest sister!"_

_"Raoul, I am doing what is best for the family…" Philippe sighed wearily, "For years the press has been having the time of its life mocking this marriage, everyone has –"_

_"Damn everyone. And I hope you rot in Hell," Raoul stood to go, needing to go before his voice completely broke, "You won't be hearing from your imbecile of a brother or his whore of a wife anymore, be rest assured,"_

_"Raoul…"_

_Raoul wiped the renegade tears that fell from his eyes, but chuckled in spite of it, "If we were such a threat to your good name, I'm surprised that you haven't had your best lawyers trying to take little Laurie away. We wouldn't want him turning out to be as corrupt as us now would we?"_

_He started to move to the door, and Philippe stood hurriedly, fumbling for his walking-stick, "Raoul, you need to listen to me –"_

_"I've listened enough," Raoul retorted, and cried out in frustration when Philippe grabbed his arm._

_They struggled for a few moments, Raoul desperate to leave the room before he completely disintegrated and surrendered to the hurt and betrayal smouldering dangerously within. He managed to push Philippe away and continued to leave but his brother caught him again._

_That was when Raoul snapped._

_It was like a dam had burst within him. All the insecurities that had plagued him - of being Raoul De Chagny - where he had always tried to live up to his name, all the hatred that he felt from the hurt of being shunned, it all came forth as he thrust Philippe back with all his might._

_How frail the man looked as he fell back, almost like a broken toy…It registered with Raoul a moment too late that he should not have been so rough with him while he was in such ill health._

_Philippe fell back and with a sick thud, the back of his skull cracked as it came into contact with the corner of his desk. Then with a spasm, his body dropped limply to the floor._

_"Philippe…?" Raoul waited for his brother to stand back up, expected Philippe to swear at him and demand he get the hell out of his study._

_But Philippe did not move._

_Raoul stepped forward tentatively, "Phil…" his words died at once when he saw the pool of blood glimmering eerily from the lamplight, which seeped into the light-coloured carpet under his head._

_Raoul was on the ground at once, panic seizing every other emotion. He grabbed onto his brother, his words inaudible._

Wake up, WAKE UP!

_Philippe's eyes stared back up at him glazed with death. Raoul pressed his ear to Philippe's chest frantically. Death was not that sudden, not that fast, it was impossible!!_

_He bent down and cradled the man in his arms, "Philippe…"_

_His shallow breathing turned to broken sobs as the man he had always looked up to refused to respond._

_"Philippe!" he cried out in incoherent agony._

_His hands gently caressed his brother's lined face, and he blinked, thinking that this was some sick and horrible nightmare. He wanted to wake up in his bed, his wife's head nestled on his chest, he craved to see the top of his four-poster bed and not this motionless body, seeped of life and soul._

_Slowly realisation began to open, like a bloodied wound._

_He was a murderer._

_No! He shook his head, it had been an accident! He hadn't meant to – he had been angry, had lashed out at Philippe…_

Everybody knows you were estranged from your family. Everybody knows…_A whisper voiced itself in his head,_ you will spend a lifetime in a cell and an eternity in fire. He is dead because of you.

_Nausea swept over him and he stood, the corpse falling from his grasp. He stumbled back, trying to reason with himself, but the nausea within him had the upper hand and before he knew it he was bending over a pot plant, emptying his stomach into the soil, his legs watery and unstable he collapsed onto his knees, the sight of his dead brother not leaving his vision._

I am a murderer!

_He weakly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand._

_He didn't know where to turn, who to go to, but to run seemed appealing. To run from the body, run from the scene, run from what he had done._

_After opening the door of the study, that is what he did._

* * *

"…Charged with wilful murder of the Compte Philippe De Chagny, the Court has found you guilty," the Judge said, and that statement was met with a raucous din from the people congregated.

Raoul looked up and saw his beloved leaning forward and shaking, her hands covering her mouth as she wept.

"Lotte…" he wanted to stand and comfort her.

An odd stillness had come over him. This is what he had been expecting, he would have been a fool to think otherwise. He felt numb to everything, but he knew the frantic panic would take a hold of him later when he was alone in his cell. But he had to remain calm, losing control was not an option. That would be for God to hear, not for Christine.

"-Death by hanging, a week from today," the Judge was continuing his speech, his voice trying to battle with the noise of the crowd.

Raoul's thoughts drifted away from the courtroom, as tears leaked from his eyes. He would never see his son turn into a man, would never grow old with his wife…He would be executed a fortnight before Christmas.

He stood as the guards took hold of him, and he let them guide him through to the exit. He did not even hear the taunts of the crowd, he did not see the grimly satisfied expression on Audra's face, but for a moment he felt someone take his hand and squeeze it as he walked past. He expected to see Christine when he turned to see who it was, but only saw Cherilyn watching him, tears pouring down her cheeks. "I'm sorry brother," she murmured.

He turned away, his eyes sweeping over everybody infront of him. The guards did their best to hold back the crowd, but one managed to get their hand through and shove him, and down he fell. His cheek crashed to the cold cement floor as he landed on his side with a groan. He tried to pull himself up, but being handcuffed made this incredibly difficult. But one of the guards cursed the feral crowd and hauled Raoul up.

His cheek stung furiously, but Raoul forgot about that the instant he turned his head and saw a hooded man at the very back of the courtroom, look at him and slowly nod. With a choked sob Raoul hurried as fast as his chains would allow him, out of the courtroom.


	13. Chapter 13

Thanks so much you guys! Thank you!!

Yeah, random and short I know (please don't throw things at me...It's my birthday tomorrow, and I'm going to be busy and thought I should post something), but things start happening very soon.

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Chapter Thirteen.

_"-Death by hanging, a week from today,"_

Christine slumped forwards, her hands clamped over her mouth to try and repress the mangled cry from within, which would echo some of the terror which surged through her. She rocked forwards and backwards slowly, not paying attention to the sharp intake of breath from Fletcher, who swore unashamedly, forgetting a lady was beside him. She ignored Ansel's murmured words of sympathy, her eyes just focused ahead on her husband. His eyes absentmindedly drifted towards her, the only tell-tale sign that he had even heard what the judge had said was his face paling a little. She had always known exactly what he had been thinking, but it troubled her that ever since the trial his thoughts were veiled from her. Had his thoughts always been so secretive? Had she ever really known Raoul de Chagny?

He saw him waver as he stood, and longed to hold him. He was escorted down from the stand, with a few guards leading him down the hall.

"I have to speak with him," she murmured.

Fletcher nodded, "We'll visit him afterwards-"

"No," she looked at him firmly, "I need to speak with him now,"

The young man looked at her uncertainly, "The crowd, Christine. They are thirsty for blood, you could get hurt-"

"It is best then if you do not want to be at risk, to stay here," Christine stood to go, but Fletcher cursed again and took her hand. He turned to Ansel and ordered, "Don't let anybody touch her,"

His brother nodded, pushing his dark curls away from behind his glasses and hesitantly took her hand. They moved forward into the crowd, and she gasped in horror when she saw a stranger in the crowd pushing her husband, causing him to fall to the floor. Despite being jostled around by the crowd she lunged forward to help him, but Fletcher held her back, "Not until we are outside,"

It took a while, but slowly they maneuvered their way through the maze of people until they were out of the building. Christine saw that he was being led into the back of the police buggy and at once she leapt forward, "Raoul!"

He turned when he heard his name being called, his eyes sorrowful, did not even lighten up in the slightest when he saw her. In just a few steps she flung herself at him, nearly knocking him over, her arms thrown around his neck. He leant his cheek onto her shoulder as his hands were bound and he could not hold her, and they stood, clinging to each other like newly orphaned siblings.

Soon a guard was tugging him away, but she clung harder, "Raoul, for the love of God, do not give up, we will appeal this –"

This caused him to choke on a sob and he caught her lips with his mouth, silencing her words, "It's too late…" was all she could make out, "Lotte, I need you to –"

"No!" he was surprised at the intensity of her words, "It's never too late. We'll get a better lawyer, a better defense!"

He moved in for a final kiss, but she pulled away as his tears fell on her face, "Raoul, do you hear me? You will not give up on me! Promise me that!"

He was being pulled away by the guard, but she seized his arm, "Swear it to me Raoul! You will not concede defeat!"

He gazed at her wearily, opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind and tilted his head, "When he comes to you, I want you to send him to me. Tell him we urgently need to talk,"

Christine blinked in confusion, not comprehending what he was saying, "W…What?"

"Send him to me…" bitter humour laced his next words as he added, "Tell him I seek confession,"

Christine stood there as he was taken from her. She watched as the buggy drove off, taking her husband back to his cell. She let Ansel take her by the arm and gently guide her away.

"I'm too young to become a widow," she turned to him, her eyes welling with tears, "And why do I have the sinking feeling that that is what my husband sees when he now looks at me? He has already condemned himself to the gallows, what hope do Laurence and I have?"


	14. Chapter 14

Aaaw, thanks you four! Love your reviews!! 

I'm sorry, I forgot to specify it on even though I did on imdb or the other Phantom forum I've got this story on. Word of warning - "Raoul seems even more of a pansy than usual." - Hehehehe, you don't wanna be knocking Raoul around me. ;)

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* * *

Chapter Fourteen.**

Fletcher Dumas held Christine de Chagny's arm protectively, warily looking around at the crowd milling the street.

"Ansel," he told his brother, "Go get the carriage quickly,"

Ansel nodded and took off down the road, while Fletcher led Christine a little way down where it was quieter. He fumbled with his jacket nervously, and finally pulled out a cigarette and his lighter, "Do you mind, Christine?" he asked, but she shook her head slightly, her thoughts elsewhere.

He lit the cigarette and took a drag, breathing easier as his nerves began to relax. He realised startled just after his hand stilled, that he had been trembling slightly before. But was it any wonder? His closest friend from childhood had been sentenced to death! He leant against the wall in a casual manner, trying to conceal the fact that he needed to lean against something before he slid down to the ground in shock.

He had known Raoul all of his life. His own parents were one of the wealthiest in France, and so it was inevitable that if the adults rubbed shoulders, their children would follow suit. Fletcher had been two years younger than Raoul, but for some reason that had never been an issue. And so for years they had been inseparable until they reached their late adolescence, and competition and rivalry settled in. Having drifted apart they lived their separate lives, Fletcher only hearing from gossip about the Phantom of the Opera scandal, and his childhood friend marrying a young singer. He had watched Raoul fall from grace absentmindedly, until he heard the horrifying news that he had murdered his brother. And when a letter was sent from Raoul, pleading for Fletcher to come see him, of course he could not refuse.

* * *

"Please," Raoul had said through the bars of his cell, "You are the only one of them I can trust, who knows exactly what they are like. Life is going to be hell for Christine, Fletcher please look out for her…"

Fletcher had put a cigarette to his mouth, and blew a smoke ring, "Did you do it on purpose?"

Raoul blinked and swallowed despondently for a moment, then his eyes met Fletcher's with iron, "No!"

Fletcher took one last drag, then handed it to Raoul through the bars, who took it gratefully, "I wouldn't blame you if you had though…Of course I'll help you,"

Raoul closed his eyes to hold back the rising tears as relief swept over him – that atleast _one_ thing in this tumultuous affair was taken care of. He breathed in the smoke with as much satisfaction as he could, "_Merci_, Dumas,"

* * *

And so he had been true to his word, and with his younger brother married to her best friend Meg Giry, he had his support too. Because Raoul asked him, he had tried to keep Christine away from the court sessions – even at risk of injury. He had looked out for her, tried to cheer Raoul's son up, had tried to keep her hopes intact…

He took a drag of his cigarette now, pushing back the immense grief he felt that the same person who he had shared his youth with was having his life severed in his prime years…Raoul had always been the romantic fool, always had the simple dream of having a wife and family…

He noticed Christine tentatively backing away to hide behind him, and he turned to see the reason why. A man in his middle years, with a stomach bulging over his trousers meandered up with a jeering grin, "Vicomptess, now that your husband is nearly expired, will you be looking for another man of wealth?"

Fletcher's mouth curled in distaste, and he gently pushed her back, as he stepped forward, "If you have anything to say Monsieur, I suggest you say it to me,"

"Ah," the man smirked, "Have you found another fool already? Might I say Madame, I am impressed with your taste, atleast this one looks potent,"

Fletcher went to lunge forward, but Christine took him by the arm, "Fletcher, please – I just want to go home,"

Fletcher composed himself and turned, taking her arm, but the damned man kept on following them, making lewd comments. Finally with a snarl, Fletcher spun around and swinging his arm, his fist connected with the man's nose. The man went down with a thud, and Fletcher turned to Christine, "I apologise for you having to see that – ah look, my brother has just come back. He will take you to the carriage," he took his coat off and handed it to Ansel, nodding as his brother took her away.

He turned back to the man, folding the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows as the man stumbled back to his feet.

"What kind of sick, twisted freak likes to taunt a distressed young woman?" Fletcher spat angrily.

"What kind of friend likes to philander with someone's wife?" the man sneered back, "Everybody knows your reputation as a playboy, Dumas –"

Fletcher was about to swing another punch when suddenly the man was pulled back and slammed into the nearby wall. Fletcher watched in shock as a hooded man took hold of the man's arm, bending it dangerously behind his back.

"You so much as go near that girl again, and I will break every other bone in your body, which I must say, will take longer to heal than this arm," the hooded man sneered.

The victim breathed in heavily, pleading pathetically, but with a disturbing crack the man cried out in agony as his arm was broken. As soon as the hooded one released him, he ran off as fast as he could, nursing his arm.

The hooded man then turned to Fletcher, his face oddly neutral and blank of any emotion, despite the fact he had temporarily disabled that man. Fletcher took a step forward when he spied a scrap of white underneath the dark hood of the man's cloak – was it a mask?

A flicker of a memory whispered through Fletcher's mind, and for a moment he had frozen as he realised he had seen this man before…

* * *

It was many years ago, true, but it had rocked the foundation of Parisian society – when the Opera Populaire was destroyed. Fletcher had been there at that last performance with his brother, sister and Mother. He had seen the object of Raoul's affections in the arms of the criminal the police were watching for, their voices entwined in a dark and richly beautiful melody. The topic of the opera was obvious – for who did not know who Don Juan was? And Parisian high society sat half scandalised, half intrigued at the preposterously tempting lyrics.

_"When will the blood begin to race? The sleeping bud burst into bloom? When will the flames at last, consume us…?"_ Christine was singing, and Fletcher laughed uneasily, turning to Ansel.

"What do you think?" he asked, but for some reason his brother was too intrigued to take notice of Fletcher.

"Sssh…" Coralie vaguely hushed her brother, and Fletcher turned to her, surprised to see her almost hypnotised.

He turned back to the opera taking place, watched as Mademoiselle Daae rested in the man's embrace – was this all part of the act? Fletcher's eyes looked up to Raoul in Box Five, the Vicompte's mouth agape in shock…Fletcher did not think Christine's behaviour was part of the act after seeing that…

_"…Lead me, save me from my solitude…"_ the man's lustre and craving from moments before had died down, replaced with a broken voice of tragedy and yearning.

_"Christine – that's all I ask of you!"_

"This isn't part of the act," Fletcher said uneasily, sensing upcoming calamity, not liking it at all.

He turned to his brother, "Ansel!" and took his arm, shaking him.

His brother jerked, his eyes suddenly seeming to waken, and he looked at Fletcher, "Wh…What?"

Suddenly they both heard their Mother and sister cry out, mingling with the horrified screams of the rest of the audience. He turned to Coralie, her gloved hand over her mouth and then back up at the two performers and had to repress his own cry. Christine had torn the mask off the man's face – revealing a marred and horribly disfigured face, which was darkening with humiliation – and betrayal.

Fletcher took his sister's hand, "We are going,"

"Wait," she pulled her hand away from him, "What's going to happen?"

The disfigured man suddenly snarled and turned, in an instant, cutting a length of rope.

"What…Why did he – ?" Fletcher's question died when it answered itself, as he heard rattling coming from above him. He only had a moment to grasp that the chandelier above them was going to crash down.

"MOVE!" panicking, he hauled his sister up, and shoved her and his Mother to safety. He turned and grabbed his brother's arm, dragging him along as quick as he could as they ran with the crowd. He barely noticed his Mother sobbing as the sickening crash of the mass of lights became heard, he was just concerned with getting them to safety.

"She's gone!" he heard Ansel say in fright, and he turned his eyes back to the stage. His brother was right – Christine and that disfigured man had disappeared, a trapdoor opened on the floor of the stage. Utter chaos and pandemonium was taking place around them, and he held on to his Mother as she clutched him, sobbing into his waistcoat.

"Where the hell are you going?" he cursed his brother, as Ansel began to run off.

"I need to make sure Meg is safe!" Ansel called back.

_Typical damn fool,_ Fletcher swore at him, _always trying to play the hero with the pretty blonde ballerina he has just recently become infatuated with…_

* * *

Even though the years had passed, that memory was still fresh in his mind. Having to calm his sister down and convince his Mother that Ansel would be alright, all the while panicking himself…

Two words came to mind as he saw the hooded man – _Opera Ghost…_

He moved forward, desperate to speak to him, and fastened his pace when he saw the Phantom of the Opera turn on his heel. Fletcher chased him for all but two moments, until he vanished when he fell into the crowd.

Fletcher circled around frantically, trying to catch a glimpse of him, but to no avail. But a new and desperate thought came to him – _what did he want with Raoul's wife now?_

He trudged back to the carriage disheartened and unsettled. His brother was waiting beside the buggy, Christine was seated comfortably inside.

Ansel stepped over concerned, "What is it Fletcher? You look pale,"

Fletcher looked at his younger brother for a moment thoughtfully. He then swallowed, turning his head away and changing his mind on what he had been about to say, "What do you think Ansel? My longest friend is about to meet the gallows,"


	15. Chapter 15

Thank you sooooooo much for your reviews guys. Honestly, they were a joy to read.

GerrysJackie, jtbwriter and Timeflies, I always love reading your reviews.

Sue Raven, your questions about Ansel/Fletcher will be answered in the future.

April Rane, I'm glad you decided to read this!! Thank you!**

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**Chapter Fifteen.**

Christine opened the door of the chateaux and stepped inside with Ansel and Fletcher close behind her. She took off her gloves and coat and quietly thanked Michelle who appeared in an instant, as she took them from her.

"Michelle, could you please be a dear and make us some tea? We will be in the sitting room," Christine asked.

"Yes Madame," Michelle started to walk away.

"Michelle," Christine stopped the maid in her tracks, "Where is my son?"

"With Josette, Madame," Michelle answered, "In his nursery. Should I send for her to bring him to you?"

"No," Christine answered quickly, "Leave him in his nursery. Don't tell him I am here please,"

She gestured for Fletcher and Ansel to follow as she made her way to the sitting-room. She sighed wearily, nausea stirring her stomach. She slowly sank to the lounge, leaning forward with her arms hugging her stomach, until the feeling passed.

"Fletcher, what are we going to do?" she asked dejectedly, as the young man began to pace, combing his fingers through his hair fretfully.

"It will be fine," he said, trying to sound sure of himself, "All we need is to apply for an appeal and then search for a loophole in the law. There has to be something. There is always something!"

Ansel moved over to the window-seat in the corner of the room, and sat down, folding his arms thoughtfully, "He…He h – h as to look as if he is n – not guilty," he murmured, "That – that was his downfall. He sits there a – as if he is waiting for the ex – executioner,"

"We'll go down there this afternoon Ansel, and apply for the appeal," Fletcher bit his lip, "There has to be a loophole. What happened with the Cartier murder case several years ago? You know, where the young girl was released but it was obvious she murdered her Mistress's husband?"

"Uh…Fletcher…I d – don't think th – the insanity plea will work…" Ansel answered.

"Damnit…" Fletcher cursed, balling up his fist and pounding it into his palm, "We should have thought of that sooner. Once we have him in an asylum, we could have gotten him out with a bit of money…"

"Th – that would not have worked Fletcher. That girl in the Cartier case used to walk through her village singing h – hymns – in the nude…Raoul has obviously always been sane…" Ansel said.

Fletcher nodded slowly, and continued to pace the room. Ansel turned his head to look out of the window, relieved in the silence which meant that he would not have to continue talking in this momentary pause. He always felt like a fool, he could not help the fact that he tripped over words and ended up stammering all over the place. For the umpteenth time he moved his reckless dark curls from behind his glasses, and chose to ignore his brother's vague remark that he needed a haircut.

Christine sniffled, covering her face with her hands, "Raoul is going to die, isn't he?"

"No!" Fletcher halted his pacing and turned to her, "I'll be damned if that happens!"

"Fletcher, I know you mean well, but I cannot afford the luxury of denial," Christine stood, "My husband is going to die…I am going to be a widow…" she began to tremble, but moved away when he went to take her arm gently.

"We can appeal –" Fletcher began.

But she interrupted him, "There will be no appeal, and you know it. The de Chagnys have too much influence as it is over the courts. They control everything. Why are they doing this Fletcher? Why?" she closed her eyes tightly, forcing herself to remain composed.

"Christine, I will do everything in my power to help Raoul," Fletcher said sincerely, "You know you have my word on that,"

"Everything in your power?" Christine asked softly, "You are very kind Fletcher, but you have not inherited your Father's assets yet…Your own small fortune is nothing compared to the de Chagny's,"

Silence imbedded the room, and Christine stood as Michelle entered the room with a tray of cups, saucers and a teapot.

"Thank you Michelle," Christine said to the Maid and she left after curtsying, "Would you care to have any tea?"

Fletcher took a cup, but Ansel politely declined. Christine poured herself one and took a sip thoughtfully. She then cleared her throat, "Ansel, go take a look through the library…I know there are a few books you might like to take a look at,"

Ansel looked up, "Oh M – Miss Christine, it –" he began to shake his head.

But Christine smiled gently, "I have noticed that you haven't been to Raoul's library in months. By all means, take a look now and choose anything you like. You have been so benevolent, I feel horrible that you have spent so much time away from Meg and little Annabelle. Please, I insist,"

Ansel looked to his brother puzzled at her persistence, but stood and nodded, "Very well. Thank you Miss Christine," then he quietly left.

Christine swallowed nervously and set her teacup and saucer on the table when he left. Fletcher folded his arms, watching her curiously, "I am led to believe that you wish to say something without my brother's presence?"

"Yes…" Christine fidgeted with the skirts of her dress, then inwardly scolded herself and folded her hands, "Please understand, it is not because I do not trust your brother. I am very grateful to him – and to you of course – but I am about to ask you something of a matter that should be kept private,"

Fletcher nodded, his interest now sharpened, and waited for Christine to continue.

"Fletcher, I made a promise to my son last night. I told him I would tell him the truth today – I have been avoiding him, because I find that telling the truth to him is a near impossible act. I know – I should never have made any promises that I cannot keep – but he deserves this. He deserves to be told the reality of the situation. But I can't tell him that his Father is going to die, I won't!" she waved her hand to silence him when Fletcher opened his mouth to speak, "No please, listen to me. My husband has a week to live. Seven days. I do not want to accept that. There will be no appeal – oh we can apply for it, and maybe there is a slight chance it will occur, but he will not win. Raoul has chosen not to fight, which is why it has fallen onto me to fight for him. My husband is a kind and gentle man, I refuse to have to wear the widow's garb of black,"

Her dark brown eyes were set firmly on Fletcher, her mouth set obstinately. For a moment she could not speak, as she had to push back the lump in her throat.

Fletcher took this opportunity to speak, "Tell me Christine," he said gently, "If you are so convinced any attempt at an appeal will fail, yet you refuse to accept Raoul's fate, what is it that you are thinking?"

There was a short pause before Christine whispered, "Escape, Fletcher. And I need your help,"

Fletcher started to pace the room again, and laughed hollowly, "I cannot believe I am having this conversation…Christine, escape is impossible…"

"But so is an appeal," she replied.

"Christine – nobody has escaped that prison. Ever. And nobody ever will. It cannot be done. And even if it could be done, your husband is Raoul de Chagny – he will be hunted, not just by police officers, but by hired secret detectives the de Chagny's hire. He will be hunted, and you will not be certain who to hide from. He would be caught, mark my words on it," he moved closer to her, "And do you know what the penalty is if we are caught?"

"If I am caught. I will take all the blame," Christine said straightaway.

"The punishment is death," Fletcher said harshly, ignoring what she had just said, "Death, Christine de Chagny. You and your husband will both die, leaving Laurence an orphan!"

Christine cried out in frustration, anger surging within her, "Well what choice do I have Fletcher Dumas? I have no other option! I need to try! He risked his life for me on more than one occasion in the past, I'll be damned if I do not do the same for him!"

"It is impossible. We only have seven days! If we had seven _months_ to plan, it would still be unachievable!" Fletcher argued.

Christine's hand wavered to her face, "Please Fletcher, _please._ You have to help me try," her voice softened, and she moved closer to him, "I would do anything. Repay you in any way. Name the price,"

Fletcher threw up his hands, "For goodness sake Christine, it is not about repayment, I am insulted you even suggested it. I am not doing it, because I refuse to give you false hope –"

In just three steps, she was pressed to him, her hands clinging to his waistcoat and her face only inches apart from his. He tried to pull back startled, but she held him firmly.

"Fletcher, I may not associate in the same circles as you do, but don't think I have not heard of your reputation," she said faintly, "When I say I will do anything, that is what I mean. I would do _anything_ to have Raoul free,"

He looked down at her in shock, the beautiful young woman offering herself to him, throwing all of her dignity and virtue at his feet. His breathing became heavier as he looked at her dark suggestive eyes, and her head tilted, letting her chocolate curls fall over one shoulder.

He had been to bed with many women in his day – his reputation as being Paris's Playboy was not exaggerated at all. If it was under any other circumstance he possibly would have been trying to seduce this woman – he had been with less prettier ones than her. But her desperation, the sheer misery that was veiled underneath her offer made his stomach recoil with queasiness – that she would be so despairing and fraught as to give herself to him. That – and the fact she _belonged to Raoul._

He tried to disentangle himself from her, but she clung to him, "Fletcher, please!"

"No!" he said heatedly, his heart wrenching as tears streamed silently down her cheeks, "Christine, don't be absurd!"

"Maman?"

At once Christine threw herself away from Fletcher in burnt shock as she heard her little boy from the doorway. Her hand went to her stomach instantly, and she panted, forcing herself to compose herself before she turned to Laurence.

"Maman, what are you doing?"

Her legs felt wobbly, and she sank to the floor to steady herself, burying her face in her hands.

"Nothing Laurence," she whispered hoarsely, "Come to me _le petite_,"

Laurence moved over to his Mother, climbing into her lap and resting his head on her chest after eyeing Fletcher carefully.

Fletcher slowly came up and looked down at the boy, not being able to fully express his gratitude to him for entering the room at that precise moment. He dug into his pocket and pulled from it a stick of peppermint and handed it to the child, "Good lad," he brushed the child's golden hair fondly, then straightened and left the room, closing the door behind him.

He met Ansel on the way down the hall, and they both started walking to the front entrance when they noticed the maid letting a hooded man through the door.

Ansel stopped in his stride, holding the books to his chest tightly, but Fletcher kept walking with a defiant step.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed when they stood face-to-face.

"That is none of your concern," the man answered slowly, "My business is with Madame –"

"Like Hell it is! What gives you the right to bother her? And who the devil are you anyway?" Fletcher retorted.

"Well what gives you – the male whore of Paris – the right to philander with a married woman?" the man's eyes behind his mask narrowed, but his question was non-chalent and if one forgot what words he used, one would be forgiven for thinking he was being polite.

"Her husband, that's who gives me the right," Fletcher stepped forward, "Now get off his estate now –"

"Fletcher…" Ansel interrupted him quietly, and almost stepped back when Fletcher turned on him, "Uh…It – it is alright. He w – will not harm h – her…"

Fletcher looked at Ansel utterly perplexed, "And how the hell would you know that? Do you even know who this is?"

"Y – yes…" Ansel replied. He lowered his gaze, but then forced himself to look back up at his brother, "I know him. His name is E – Erik, he was the Phantom of the Opera. And what I said is true. No harm will come to Christine,"


	16. Chapter 16

Thank you so much everyone! I'll post another chap up tomorrow. 

"ok so when are christine and erik going to get together?" - It will happen when it happens. So meanwhile...Do you like it so far?

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**Chapter Sixteen.**

Fletcher turned from his brother to the Phantom and back to Ansel again, his brow creased, and his mouth agape in utter perplexity and confusion.

"I don't understand…" Fletcher managed to speak, "Would you care to explain how you know this man?"

Ansel turned to the Phantom nervously, "I…I – I'm s – sorry…" he stopped speaking for a moment and swallowed, angry with himself and his foolish stuttering, and continued very slowly to curb the stammers, "I'm going to have to tell him, Erik. He _is_ my brother after all, and he will keep silent. Won't you Fletcher?"

Fletcher looked at him stunned, then finally managed to say, "Well, whatever it is – if you're implicated, then I have no choice but to be silent,"

Ansel nodded, seeming to be satisfied, "It all b – began when I ran to find Meg, th – the night of the Don Juan o – opera…"

_

* * *

_

_Mayhem and chaos had taken over the Opera House as the audience ran screaming when the chandelier crashed down. Women were screaming as they clutched to their sweethearts or husbands, men looked around wildly, dignity and decorum had been completely forgotten in the crisis. _

Ansel scanned around the stage, searching for the woman he loved, and panicked when he found no sign of her. He began to run, not knowing where to go, only knowing that he had to make sure she was safe.

"Where the hell are you going?" he vaguely heard his brother yell through the screams of the people around them, and the blood pounding in his ears.

He only paused for a second as he answered, "I need to make sure Meg is safe!" He did not wait to hear what Fletcher had to say, he just ran.

For about fifteen painstakingly long minutes he searched to no avail, until he saw Meg Giry trying to stop a small crowd from passing her. She was struggling as they tried to push past, and his heart almost stopped when he saw a man curse at her and slap her cheek, causing her to fall back heavily to the ground. The small crowd surged on to wherever they were heading, and Ansel rushed up.

"Meg!" he was at once by her side, cupping her reddening cheek gently with his hands. She looked up at him, her eyes welling with tears, and he helped her up.

"He's taken Christine! My God, Ansel!" she threw herself at him, and he enfolded his arms around her as she shook in fright.

"Th -the Police will f-find them, she will be safe," he tried to reassure her, and moved back, taking her hand, "W- we must –"

"No!" she pulled away from him, "I have to find them,"

"Meg, i- it isn't safe –" he tried to protest.

"Ansel, go back home with your family," she started to move away, "You don't understand, and I don't expect you to – but I must follow them,"

He moved forward desperately, "Don't be a fool, Meg," he was surprised at the firmness of his tone, but he continued, "I'm not leaving you,"

She looked at him, then shrugged, "Very well. I know a way in which we can beat the crowd," and he followed her, as she ran quickly through corridors and to what seemed to be a dressing-room.

She did not pause, and waved his questions aside distractedly as she hurriedly went through the dressing-room and slid open a mirror. Behind it was revealed a pathway which led into a dark labyrinth. He squeezed her hand in what could be thought as encouraging, but really was just to reassure himself as they made their way down.

It was quiet, and cold, and damp, and at every step Ansel felt more and more dread. He did not like this at all, but he held firmly onto Meg's hand, as she rushed through.

"It's a whole underground world…" she murmured.

"H -Hades lair," Ansel replied softly.

They walked down a flight of winding stairs, but then had to stop when they reached a lake. Meg stood there crestfallenly, but turned to Ansel, "My Mother used to say the catacombs were like a tangled web – there must be another way!"

She tugged at his hand and he hesitantly let her escort him through the darkness, listening to her mutterings of, "Where could he be?"

He stumbled over in the dark and he fell, pulling her down with him. "I- I'm sorry," he said quickly as he pulled them both up. He stepped back and looked around, "Meg, w- we are completely l- lost," he straightened his glasses as he leant back against a wall…

He cried out when he heard a click, and the wall seemed to shift, swinging him around 180 degrees swiftly, and he threw up his hands when a bright light switched on, causing his eyes to be blinded for a moment.

"M- Meg?"

There was no answer. He slowly dropped his arms, his eyes widening in absolute shock as his mind did a double-take at what he saw.

"Meg?!"

Around him were dozens – no, hundreds – no, thousands! Of his reflections staring back at him, open mouthed in fright. His heart raced as if it would burst from within him, and he turned back around, pounding frantically on another mirror, reflecting his terror. He was trapped in an eternal chamber of mirrors.

"MEG!"

He did not care that he was crying as he screamed, his fists unable to break the glass, unable to hear Meg through the barrier. He turned on his heel, and in his horror, all common sense had vanished. He did not think in his state of turmoil that he should somehow find the button or lever which would propel him back to the other side, instead he spun around, seeing the reflection of his own tears and terror. He lunged forward, blindly hammering at all the mirrors, screaming for Meg.

Suddenly and without warning he fell through a mirror which revolved mechanically, much like the other one, and before he had time to think he had been propelled into – a bedroom of all places?

From the coffin of pure sable, to the ebony carpeting, Ansel's mind hammered with uncertainty at his funereal surroundings. What was this madness? He tentatively moved forward, when he heard sobbing and quiet talking from outside the room. He stepped to the door, and opened it a crack, watching the masked man from the earlier performance on his knees as he held a ring in his hands. His face was now naked, and Ansel could see the details of the deformity, every marred crack, every split and misshapen curve. The pacing of Ansel's heart slowed down as he watched this man's misery, in curious fascination.

"Christine…Christine…" he was weeping brokenly, and brought the ring to his lips where it lingered.

His next movement was so sudden, Ansel moved back as fear jolted him, trying to hide in the shadows of this room, but he had no reason to fear as the man had gotten to his feet in an instant and was exiting the room. Ansel tentatively moved through the room and poked his head slightly from the doorway. He saw the man move over the ground, Ansel opened his mouth in shock! This man's dwelling was positioned right beside a lake! He saw him pick up an elaborate candelabra, and he started smashing every single mirror he could see, his sobs intensifying.

"It's over now, the music of the night!" his voice rang out, echoing with the divine beauty of his performance from before, but also echoing misery and heartbreak.

He stepped through one of the mirrors he destroyed, into what seemed to be a secret passageway, and disappeared.

From the distance Ansel could hear a mob who must have been successful in finding their way down, and suddenly his heart buzzed with fear when he remembered Meg! Was she safe? Where was she? Had some other trap ensnared her? He couldn't bear to think of her being frightened and alone, perhaps in the dark…

From the distance, leading the mob, he saw a flicker of gold, and relief surged through him when he realized it was her.

She was safe…

_She moved forward in the water, looking around her newly discovered surroundings, her eyes taking in everything. _

Ansel turned his gaze back to the mirror curiously. Where had he gone to, the mystery that had terrorized the whole evening? Where did the passage in the mirror lead to?

The crowd's bloodthirsty chant was becoming louder as they neared the lair. Before Ansel even knew what he was doing, he had fled from the bedroom that the Phantom had been kneeling in before, and lunged as fast as he could to the mirror. So many questions were running through him, and he had to find out the answers. The mob that were coming down were reveling in their lust for taking this man's life, he would not get a chance if they found him, to find out what he wanted.

He stepped over the shards of broken glass at the entrance of the mirror quickly, and wisely drew the curtain which had been opened to veil his tracks.

All of a sudden he was shrouded in darkness. Absolute pitch black. With his hand carefully on the wall of the passage, he slowly started to make his way forward, until his foot caught a shapeless form crouching all alone, and he fell…


	17. Chapter 17

Wow!! Thank you everyone for the fantastic reviews!

Yes I know this is only half finished, but I'm so tired, and I worked so hard on it, I just had to post. More should be posted hopefully tomorrow.

Thank you everyone!!

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**Chapter Seventeen. **

_Ansel tried his best to scramble to his feet, but suddenly he was hauled up viciously and thrown to the wall. He tried to pry away the hands that wrapped around his throat, but to no avail. The hands crushed his trachea, the grip was as hard as steel. Ansel gagged and spluttered, trying to fend off the invisible threat in the dark. _

"Can't you leave me be?" the figure hissed brokenly, "Destroy my home, take my belongings, but leave me be!"

Everything was going hazy, and Ansel slapped at the hands feebly as he panicked. His lungs were becoming painful and his legs became watery as energy began to ebb away from him.

Suddenly he was dropped to the floor, and he grabbed his throat, gasping for blessed air. The moment he recovered, he was on his knees trying to scrabble away. He let out a soft cry of fear when the figure grabbed at him, and pulling at his hair he heaved him back up and flung him against the wall. Ansel tried to pull away, and kicked out in desperation, but with a sharp crack, the back of a palm hit Ansel's cheek and his head spun as white dots appeared infront of his eyes. Before he could say anything, his assailant's hand was over Ansel's mouth roughly to prevent him from crying out. Ansel struggled, but then froze in fear when a knife with a jewelled hilt appeared as if from nowhere, and was pressed firmly against his abdomen.

"Your clothes are too refined for a stagehand's…" the man mused, and then with a smile said, "Well, so it seems my fair patron, that you will assist in my escape,"

"I…I…" Ansel began to stammer, as the man slowly removed his hand.

But the man cut off his words with a snarl, "You are in no position to argue with me," to add incentive to his words he pressed the dagger firmer into Ansel.

"I…Y – you…" Ansel paused and swallowed, "Y – you'll need a c – cloak. Y – you would run r – risk of being rec – recognised if y – you don't wear o – one,"

"Don't take me for a fool. The moment you step out of here you will alert the others to my whereabouts," the man hissed.

There was silence between them in this dilemna, and the only thing that could be heard was Ansel's heavy breathing laced with anxiety.

Finally Ansel spoke up quietly, "If – if I had wan – wanted to alert the o – others, than I would have d- done so as you were w - weeping in the bedroom," he looked meaningfully at the figure.

The figure lent his face forward, looking directly at Ansel's face, his eyes glinting menacingly, "How the hell did you enter my home?"

"I – I don't kn – know – I just sort of was thrust in – into a room w – with a coffin and –" Ansel tried to explain himself.

"Quiet!" the man hissed, and suddenly began to search the pockets of Ansel's coat and crimson silk vest. His hand dipped into a pocket, and pulled out a ring with a family crest emblazoned on it. He smiled slightly in satisfaction when he saw the boy's eyes widening in silent protest.

"This ring is important to you?" the man asked mockingly, and continued without waiting for Ansel to continue, "You will never see it again if I so much as even hear you thinking of warning the mob. Is that clear?"

Ansel cried out angrily and frantically tried to tear the ring from the aggressor's grip, heat surging through him. His Mother had given him that years ago, in a rare show of warmth…

In a flash, the knife moved from his abdomen to his throat and Ansel at once halted.

"Remember this, boy – I have been the ghost in these walls for many years. I know everything," his voice lowered as he put emphasis on the next words, "She is very pretty, is she not?"

Ansel did not move.

"Have I made myself clear?"

The knife was pushed harder to Ansel's skin, where it cut in a little. Ansel tried not to move when he could feel a trickle of blood.

"Y – y – yes!" Ansel spluttered, and didn't need further encouragement to run when he was shoved.

He ran to the curtain, and as quietly as he could so as to not put attention onto himself he slowly moved it aside and stepped out, then drew it back into place. Nobody noticed the young man in their excitement over destroying and looting the dwelling. His inner love for art twinged when he saw a porcelain sculptor of an elephant on its hind legs toppling from a small table and smashing in half as it hit the hard floor, when a stagehand pulled out a velvet tablecloth carelessly from underneath it. He rushed back into the room with the coffin inside and ignoring a couple of looters he swung open the door of a wardrobe and pulled out a long cloak with a hood. He then turned, hurriedly, exiting the room. As he was about to turn to the broken mirror again, he noticed in the corner of his eye some manuscripts being set alight by a few men, half drunken with their elation. He stopped and looked around, nausea sweeping through him as he saw beautiful pieces of art going up in flame – pages being ripped from colourful leather-bound books.

They were all insane…

He moved slowly towards the bonfire, pulling his shirt up over his throat which throbbed dully from the knife, so the blood would be concealed from everyone's eyesight. Beside the fire saw piles and piles of music stacked up, waiting to be destroyed.

"Why are you doing this…?" he breathed softly, and picked up one of the oil paintings – a perfect resemblance of the singer Christine Daae.

They didn't seem to have heard him, and he slowly moved his head, when the title of a leather-bound file caught his eye – Don Juan Triumphant. He quickly picked it up, flicking through the pages of music – this must have been the original copy of the Phantom's opera. He did not need to think twice as he tucked it under his arm – he would have rather burned himself than see this beautiful opera be destroyed so needlessly.

"Ansel!"

His love's arms suddenly were thrown around him, and he was nearly knocked over. He turned and smiled down as she pulled his head down to her height, her mouth meeting his fervently.

"Oh, I was so worried! I thought something had –" her words died as she looked down and saw the cloak, and file under his arm.

"What are you doing?" her eyes looked back up at him, confused.

"Meg, I…" he was at a loss for words, and bit his lip, shrugging.

She stepped back slowly, "You cannot take his things…I expected it from them, but – from you?"

He looked down at the white mask in her hands, "Well, w - what is it that y - you are doing?"

"I'm…" she hid the mask behind her back, "Nothing,"

He started to move away from the few men who were having the time of their lives building up the fire, and he then said, "I - I want you to s -stay here, Meg,"

"Why? What are you talking about?" she asked.

"Meg," he slowed his next words so they were precise and clear, "I want you to stay here,"

She took his arm and turned him around so she was directly looking at him, and when she saw the fear in his eyes, understanding slowly dawned on her.

"You've seen him…" she whispered quietly, "Where is he?"

"I h- have no choice but to help h -him escape," he licked his lips, "You are s- staying here,"

"No!" she squeezed his arm, "Ansel – I know you don't believe me, but…By the look of things you are frightened. You would have less reason to fear him if I were there – I – I think – well…" she stopped and sighed, "Trust me Ansel,"

He looked carefully at her, "W -what is it that y- you aren't telling me, Meg?"

"Nothing…" Meg squirmed uncomfortably, "That is – nothing important…I won't let you go by yourself, and anyway, I'd like to see you try and stop me,"

Ansel considered her thoughtfully, "You stay r -right behind me, do you hear me M - Meg? And…If something happens – if I say run, I want y -you to run as f -fast and as f -far away as you can without l -looking back,"

She smiled softly, her hand reaching up to brush his curls fondly with her hand, "Silly boy," she murmured fondly, "You know I would never leave you. I am sorry, but there really is no way you can stop me,"

He bent his head down to her, peering into her light blue eyes sharply, "You will promise me Meg. This is not a jest – I am deadly serious. If I say run, you will run,"

She tilted her head to the side, and frowned a little before she finally said resolutely, "No,"

Ansel hissed under his breath, knowing he was defeated, and really had no choice but to take her. Even though he knew she would not give the man's whereabouts away, he knew that she would give him a horrible time afterwards…And unless he tied her somewhere, he highly doubted she would meekly stay where she was and not follow him…And the more he thought about it, the more he did not like the idea of leaving her behind here by herself anyway. Seeing the horrible mob, he did not think this the most tasteful crowd to leave a pretty young ballerina.

"Damnit…" he snatched her hand and held it firmly in his when he gave up.

He tentatively moved forward to the mirror, making sure he was not being watched at all from anyone, and squeezed Meg's hand gently as they both stepped through together.


	18. Chapter 18

Thanks soooo much you guys!! Ahhhh, in major hurry, not sposed to be on computer. But thank you, thank you, thank you!! I promise I'll post more soon - tomorrow!! Aaaargh, I'm in so much trouble, hahaha...

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**Chapter Eighteen.**

_They stepped through the mirror together, Meg and Ansel, hand in hand. As the curtain fell back into place behind them, they were suddenly separated from the light from the divided room and were shrouded in utter darkness, and Ansel tucked the Don Juan Triumphant file in his jacket. _

"Walk carefully Meg," Ansel murmured, "The footing is rather even now, but it is dark and might not continue this way,"

With his hand on the wall to direct their way in the dark they walked slowly forward, until suddenly the figure seized Ansel's collar viciously, and pinned him to the wall.

"Why did you bring her?" he hissed, "To show her the freak? Is my face what you told her about? That she must come see the walking corpse?"

Before Ansel could reply, Meg moved forward, her hand reaching up blindly in the dark to squeeze the figure's shoulder, "Don't hurt him please," she begged softly, and added, "I came because I wanted to help too," she held out to him the ivory white mask that she had been holding.

The figure did not move for a few moments, he still held the boy's collar roughly, lost in thought.

"H – here," Ansel held out the cloak, "W – we should make a move soon. I – I do not know how l – long the broken mirror will remain unnoticed. They are destroying everything else…"

The figure slowly released his grip on Ansel, letting his arms drop resignedly to his side. He then swallowed, "You are right," and thanked Meg quietly as he took the mask. He turned his head to the side as he carefully placed it back over his face, then wordlessly took the cloak from Ansel and pulled it over his frame, tugging the hood over his face.

Ansel slowly moved back to Meg without taking his eyes off the figure, and pushed her gently to the wall, raising her hand to touch it, secretly hinting to her the direction that would lead to the exit if she needed to escape. He then caressed the side of her face lovingly, but this intimate show of affection halted at once when he heard a deep chuckle.

"There will be no escaping boy, not until I am safely gone," the man said, deeply amused at the boy's precautions.

Ansel stood straighter in an attempt to make himself courageous after a sharp jolt of shock went through him (His eyesight in the dark is as perfect as a feline's!), _"The understanding was between you and I. You are not to so much as lay a finger on her," _

"You altered that understanding when you brought her in with you," the man replied, "Therefore –"

"Stop it right there, both of you!" Meg reprimanded, throwing her hands up in frustration, "This is silly and is getting us nowhere,"

Ansel opened his mouth to add something, but she cut him off, "Now, you wish to be assisted from here, Monsieur. We will have to delve further into the passage and wait until the mob disappears –"

"Mademoiselle, I built this maze myself, I know exactly where it leads to and there are a number of ways out of here. There is no need to wait until those cretins leave my home. I have no wish to see it lying in ruins," he turned to go, "Now follow me,"

"I – if you can find your way o – out of here, than what am I needed for?" Ansel protested.

"It would be easy for me to take a hansom, and leave the driver unconscious, but after tonight I cannot stomach the idea of doing such as that when I have other means. I would go unnoticed if I were the humble servant of a young man of wealth and his sweetheart," he gestured for them to start walking, "Now hurry your step, we need to move,"

They walked in silence for a few paces until the figure turned to the wall, and with his hand, he felt for some matches and pulled out a wooden torch, setting it alight. At once the room burst into light, and their shadows danced in the candlelight on the walls made of ancient rock. Meg blinked a few times as her eyes became accustomed to the light, and turned to Ansel, about to say something when her hand flew to her mouth and she gasped.

He turned to her, "Are you alright? Did you see a rat?"

"No," she moved as close to him as she could, her hands gently caressing his neck, "You're bleeding! How did I not notice this before? Oh Ansel, what happened?"

"Oh, that…" Ansel said uncomfortably and shrugged slightly, throwing a look to the masked man.

Meg suddenly turned to the Phantom in perplexity, "How could you?" then hurriedly busied herself in pulling her white cotton shirt loose from her pants, where she tore the bottom off.

"Mademoiselle," the figure said blankly, "In this night I have committed far greater crimes than you would understand. His throat will be fine, the blade went no deeper than just under the skin,"

"Meg, I am f -fine –" he tried to stop her.

But she shook her head obstinately, "Pull your hair up for me and stand still,"

"M- Meg –"

"Hush, and do as I say," she looked up at him sharply.

He sighed and pulled his dark curls out of the way, bending over so she could tie the piece of cloth around his neck, "I hope the blood can come out of that, it was a lovely shirt on you," she murmured absentmindedly, "I'll take a look at it later, does it hurt at all?"

"No," he said just as his throat throbbed again.

"Liar," she smiled affectionately, and quickly gave him a peck on the tip of his nose. Then she turned to the Phantom and nodded, "Lead on,"

The masked man managed to repress a smile of mirth as he turned, and along they trudged. He led them through countless passageways purposely, seeming to know exactly where he was headed, and Ansel and Meg were glad of that as they lost count of the different turns he took as he led the way.

"Where are we going?" Meg asked, after an hour in the trek, but she did not receive an answer.

They had left the opera house atleast, she was sure of that. She had figured out that they had been under the stables an hour ago when she heard pandemonium as the stableboys ran about, releasing the horses in a panic as the fires that ravaged the theatre started to become out of control.

She stumbled tiredly after awhile, as weariness of the evening's events began to take a toll on her, but she waved Ansel's concerned remarks aside distractedly.

"W -where do you plan on g -going?" Ansel asked the man, to break the silence.

The man did not answer, but this time Ansel did not give up on the questions.

"You have n -nowhere to go, do you?" it was not a jeer or a spiteful jab, just a factual statement.

The man still did not answer.

"Well, d -do you have any money?" Ansel persisted, "Any plan? Anything a -at all?"

Still there was no reply.

"Do y -you have any idea what they will do t -to you?" Ansel said in disbelief, "I don't th -think anybody was killed with the chandelier coming down because my f -family and I were directly underneath it and escaped unscathed, but th -the Populaire would have been destroyed, all that damage, all that abrupt unemployment, y -you could be hanged –"

"Somebody was killed," the man finally said wearily, "It was regrettable,"

Ansel laughed in disbelief, "Well th -that just makes this even m -more perfect, you will be hanged if caught, and –"

The man suddenly stopped in his tracks and spun around viciously. Ansel instinctively pushed Meg back, but the masked man did not seem to notice, "Of course I am aware of the consequences you stupid fool! I have always been aware of what lay ahead for me, why do you think I am running?"

"You do not need to run,"

Both pairs of eyes flickered to Meg, who licked her lips as she said nervously, "My Mother never had the heart to sell the little house that she lived in with me and my Father before he died. It's small but it is abandoned and will be suitable until you plan what you would like to do,"

"Oh," the man sneered, "And why would you allow me to take such liberties?"

"Because…" Meg paused, lowering her head, but then continued, "I wish to help you,"

"Why?" he suddenly turned on her, and pushed the boy back irritatingly as he moved to protect her, "I am an evil, vile demonic creature Little Giry, one who does not deserve mercy. Did your love there tell you that I all but said out loud that I would threaten your safety if he did not comply with my wishes?"

She looked at him emotionlessly, as she said, "You are not evil. My Mother sees it, and so do I,"

There was a shocked silence after that, as they stared at each other obstinately.

She continued, "I saw Christine leave with Raoul in the boat as I came down here. She was weeping. For you. You let her go, did you not? Why did you let her go?"

The man slowly started to turn away, but she stepped forward and grabbed his arm, "Why did you let her go?"

"Because…" his words were bordering on tears as he fought to keep them back, "Because I love her, and there would be no life worthy for her with a creature such as I,"

He turned to move on, but she had not finished with him, "It only fell into place as I was coming down here, that my Mother not only knew of you, but knew you. For the past few months it has not been making sense – I know my Mother had been hiding something, but…When your mask was pulled off on stage, I saw her horrified reaction – she wept for you Monsieur. She murmured your name – Erik. Everybody knows my Mother, and she does not weep unless her heart is in deep pain. And as I came down here, I made up my mind that I needed to help you…" she paused, and closed her eyes, "Am I right to say that it was you who saved my life?"

She opened them and looked to him hard, "When I was a little girl, I fell incredibly ill. It was soon after my Father had died, and even then I knew that death was my fate too. But a physician was called for. One of the best in Paris. And expensive medicine was bought for me. My Mother was always a saver, but even she could not afford that. She never spoke of who sent for the man, or who paid for the medicine. But…It was you, wasn't it?"

The man looked at her, and slowly nodded, his voice hoarse as he whispered, "Clever girl,"

She smiled then, her eyes misting with tears, "And when I awoke after the fever had broken, there was a beautiful china doll with ebony ringlets and a silk dress…That was from you too, was it not?"

He finally turned around and continued to walk, "You had wanted that doll for months…The purchase of it put your wailing to an end atleast,"

Meg began to walk again, with Ansel behind her, "I think I then owe you a favour, wouldn't you agree?"

She laughed softly when he at once chose silence again.

Weariness after awhile took over again, and she could not ignore Ansel any longer as she stumbled for the umpteenth time. He took her arm so she would stop walking, and stepped infront of her, his back to her, "G -get on,"

"Ansel, don't be silly," she murmured, covering her mouth with her hand as she yawned.

"I w -won't take another step until y -you do," he said stubbornly.

"I suggest you listen to the young man, I am not one for great patience right now, especially a lover's quarrel," came the Phantom's voice from just up ahead.

Meg sighed, and finally wrapped her arms around Ansel's neck resignedly, "But only for a little while," she said tiredly.

"Mmmhmm," he said with a roll of his eyes as he began to walk.

"You w -were beautiful t -tonight Meg," Ansel suddenly murmured lovingly, "On the st -stage earlier, and j -just now,"

"Ansel?" she said as she rested her face against the back of his neck.

"Yes?"

"In reply to what you told me last Tuesday – I love you too,"

And Ansel smiled.


	19. Chapter 19

Thank you, thank you, thank you for the wonderful reviews as per usual. You're all the best readers EVER.

jtbwriter, lol, what does TPTB mean?

I'm not sure when I can post again, hopefully early next week. I just have an essay for uni I want to get over and done with this weekend. But yeah, Tuesday or Wednesday, there should be another chappity chap.

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**Chapter Nineteen.**

Ansel fidgeted nervously when he had finished telling Fletcher what he deemed he needed to know. His older brother looked at him, and Ansel lowered his gaze so he would avoid the stony glare from Fletcher.

The young man said nothing for a moment, but his voice was cold and contemptuous when he said under his breath, "You mean to tell me that you helped this psychotic madman escape, and never even thought to tell me? What? Did it suddenly just slip your mind?" he grabbed Ansel by the collar and added scornfully, "Did you forget that you even had a brother?"

Ansel pulled himself away, "I'm s – sorry, but th -there was no reason to t -tell you," he was desperate for Fletcher to understand, "It w -was not my secret t -to tell!"

"Do you realise," Fletcher said, his words polite but dripping with sarcasm, "That when that lunatic dropped the chandelier down over us – oh, did that slip your mind too? - That Coralie nearly fell in her hurry to move? If she had not been beside me, or if she had been on the other side of you, she could have been crushed to death," Fletcher turned to the Phantom, sarcasm fading and outright hatred seeping through, "Although maybe you are the fortunate one for that. If my sister had have died that night, you would not have lived very long afterwards,"

The Phantom smiled deprecatingly and clapped, "Bravo Dumas, if you ever needed a job, you could pursue the stage easily. I have not seen such a touching display since La Carlotta,"

"If my brother wasn't implicated I would have you hauled into a cell, right now," Fletcher spat, then started to walk away, "You're walking home Ansel,"

"Uh…Fletcher…Th –that is my c -carriage…" Ansel quietly said.

Fletcher paused in mid-stride, then nodded slowly, "Fine…" he turned back to Ansel, "I will then send your carriage back to your home after the driver drops me home,"

"Fletcher!"

"Don't blame me," Fletcher held out his hands with a smirk, "It would be inappropriate to allow this man to see the young beauty without a chaperone. And since you seem to have such a long-lasting acquaintanceship with the fellow, I thought you would only be too happy to oblige,"

The Phantom rolled his eyes and moved forward to walk up the stairs. As he did so, he quickly handed Ansel a small package, "For Annabelle," he said. Ansel turned to follow him up the stairs, but halted when Fletcher suddenly called out.

"Wait a minute!" he strode back over and took the package from Ansel, ripping it open. He eyed the little ballerina figurine suspiciously, and looked up, "If you just helped him to escape Ansel, how does he even know you have a daughter who is besotted with anything to do with ballet?"

Ansel said nothing, but stood there, holding the books tighter to his chest.

"You're not telling me something…" Fletcher murmured, this time hurt was clearly traced in the words, "You have always told me everything,"

Ansel shrugged, and slowly took the figurine back, tucking it into his coat, "Y -you were the one t -to assume I had only s -seen him once," he paused guiltily, "Now is n -not the time…I will tell you later,"

Fletcher stood there silently, weighing Ansel silently. He watched the way he chewed his lip, the way his dark eyes were downcast on the carpet timidly, the way in which his hands held his books close as if he could use them as a shield.

Suddenly Fletcher reached out with his hand and struck Ansel's side of his shoulder forcefully.

"Ow!" Ansel stepped back at once, "W -what the hell was th -that for?"

Fletcher grimaced, and then as he turned Ansel caught a slight smile on his brother's face as he muttered, "You never told me you professed your love to Meg before she had declared hers for you. Had I taught you nothing?"

Ansel smiled himself as he turned to walk up the stairs, knowing that in spite of the fact that he would have to tell Fletcher everything later (and everything meant _everything_), and that it was obvious he was hurt that he had been kept in the dark, everything would be fine.

The Phantom and Ansel walked up the stairs together silently, until they reached the top stair.

"Library?" Ansel asked, and the Phantom nodded.

"Thank you Ansel,"

And they both parted ways, the Phantom gratefully walking alone to try and make amends with his muse.

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Fletcher hurriedly departed from the carriage after he had instructed to be taken there and rushed up the stairs to the building. Raoul would be moved soon, to a larger establishment until his week was finished. The place where he was now was just the police station…He wondered how Raoul was coping with the fact he would be thrown into a place with cold-blooded murderers and scum of the earth criminals, would have to sit with them, eat with them, be one of them… 

There had been one moment in their past, a memory that had stayed with Fletcher. They had only been boys, he and Raoul, when one of Paris's most infamous drunkards had been charged with the murder of his pregnant wife. She had been a delicate creature in the days before their arranged marriage, raven-haired and content with her lot in life…When the bruises began to appear on her body, they slowly eroded her gaiety, and by the time they found her murdered body, she had been friendless and isolated for months. The beast was loathed by everyone after what he did, he was cruel, twisted…An alcoholic monster…Raoul was not like that, would never be like that…Why had they insisted on branding him with the same punishment?

He raised his head as he stepped through the doors, refusing to show any emotion. Almost at once two figures brushed past him, one upright and stern looking, the other tentatively following her, but looking back regretfully. Audra and Cherilyn. He did not bother to nod politely, as society would have told him he should have done. All thoughts such as that vanished from his mind as soon as the doors had opened and he heard somebody screaming out from the back of the building. Stark, raving mad the cries were, bordering on madness! Fletcher ran forward, signalling to the guard he always saw. The words were inaudible in their frenzied state, and Fletcher flew through the corridors to the cell.

_What has she done to you?_ Were Fletcher's horrified thoughts.

"I am sorry Monsieur, but he is in no state for visitors –" the guard tried to say over Raoul's ranting.

"Like Hell he isn't," Fletcher tore the keys off the man's belt, fumbling with them, madly trying to find the right one, "Which key is it?" he yelled out himself.

The guard silently took them from Fletcher when he realised this was not a man to bargain with, and unlocked the door himself. Fletcher ignored the man's "only a few minutes though," and rushed in.

Raoul's eyes were wide and bloodshot, and he was pummelling the walls in an insane frenzy, ignoring the scratches which were imbedding themselves into his skin from the violent contact with the rough wall.

"Raoul," Fletcher began, but the young man hadn't seemed to have heard him.

"RAOUL!" Fletcher suddenly took a hold of Raoul's arm, but stumbled back when Raoul turned around to him, swinging a punch into his jaw.

Fletcher nursed his face as Raoul suddenly fell to the ground, sobbing brokenly and unashamedly. He pulled at his hair agonisingly, as the tears racked his body fiercely.

Fletcher dropped to his knees beside his friend as the crazed gibbering began to fade.

"Easy _mon ami_, easy," he said gently, slowly taking his arm and squeezing Raoul's shoulder.

"They're…" Raoul spluttered as he talked hoarsely, "They're going to take my little boy…After I'm dead…After I'm dead…And there's not a damned thing that can be done to stop them," his face paled and he clutched at his stomach. Just as Fletcher grabbed him as he wavered dizzily, Raoul unceremoniously emptied the contents of his stomach on the cold floor-tiles.

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Just warning you, there is more to Ansel/Erik's past but I'll delve into that a little later. I thought there should be a break. 


	20. Chapter 20

Thank you all for your lovely reviews as usual!!

And because I am such a nice friend, here's an advertisement courtesy of the letter E. If you're bored, go read NoelleLaBelle's phics (there's a oneshot of hers I especially love. You gotta love angsty Erik). Noelle's a tops lass, and one of my best friends, even if we live on different sides of the planet and have only met through the net.

And I know, I shouldn't have written this...Lord, I need to write my essay, but this temptation was so great. Alright, that's it, I have to write it.

Wish me luck. Bleurgh.**

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**Chapter Twenty.**

"Raoul, what the devil are you talking about?" Fletcher asked concerned, he pulled his friend gently away from the pile of vomit and hauled him up as he stood, leading him over to the bed in the corner of the room, where Raoul sank down.

Fletcher pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to Raoul. Raoul took it and wiped his mouth, "I apologise…" he said embarrassedly, his eyes lowered to the floor, "I don't know what came over me – I – I was just blind with anger,"

"There is no need to apologise…And I will have that mess seen to, later," Fletcher knelt down in front of Raoul, "I am so sorry about today Raoul, but Christine and I are going to appeal this and pay for a better lawyer –"

"Don't you see?" Raoul looked at Fletcher half pityingly, half distraught, "It's over. Nothing more can be done –"

Fletcher stood up angrily, "You have a family to fight for Raoul de Chagny, I have never known you to be a downright foolish coward! You can not give up now!"

"Fletcher, it is _over!" _Raoul raised his voice angrily, "Don't you see? They've won…" he buried his face in his hands, "Dear God, they've won…"

"Well, I don't believe you. And you know what? It doesn't matter that you refuse to fight, because you asked me those months ago to help you. I just never believed that I would be having to help you against yourself…" he threw up his hands, "Well tell me what exactly they said to you,"

Raoul said nothing for a moment, then slowly lay down on his bed dizzily as another wave of nausea nearly overwhelmed him, "I'm going to have to sell the chateaux…I'll trust you to oversee the details when I'm gone Fletcher, to gain as much profit as possible…The best lawyer in Paris will defend my family – I can't have Laurence taken from Christine. I won't. It would kill her Fletcher…He is just a child I know, but he will take care of her in my absence…Such a good little boy…" a tremor made his body twitch slightly as he remembered what had just taken place in his cell…

* * *

_He was sitting staring at the wall as he contemplated life and eternity, after being taken from the courthouse when his sentence had been delivered. If it was under any other circumstance he would have been grateful for the silent guard who had escorted him back, for once the one who was assigned to him did not take pleasure in dishing out spiteful remarks about his situation. But as it was, he did not even think about it._

"_de Chagny,"_

_He did not turn when a guard rapped on his door moments before he unlocked it._

"_You have a visitor,"_

_Raoul slowly turned full of dread, expecting to see a distraught Christine – or worse – a Christine with veiled emotions, holding hands with little Laurence. He had not seen his child since before he had been taken and his heart ached to hold him, but he had made the right decision in forbidding Christine to bring him to such a place as this. He did not even want to think for a moment of the kind of impact it would have on his son, seeing his Father in such a miserable state. But after the sentencing today, he supposed he really had no choice but to allow his son to see him in this wretched condition. _

_But his heart lurched unexpectedly when he saw his younger sister Cherilyn – the baby of the family, being eighteen years of age – walking in. He himself had been an unexpected surprise for the de Chagny's – and because there was such an age gap between he and his siblings, his parents had tried for another child to keep him company. And after a lot of difficulty, a seven year old Raoul had finally been able to peer over the cradle draped in lace, to look at the new addition to the family – a sleeping baby girl. Poor Cherilyn! It seemed the destiny her parents had bestowed upon her before she had even been born was ill-fated the moment she came into the world. She had been a difficult birth (considering Madame de Chagny was not young anymore), and they had both nearly lost their lives in the effort. Thus in consequence, because of overprotective instincts from her Mother, Cherilyn had never been encouraged or allowed to discover the outside world where her brother spent most of his hours – climbing trees, jumping in puddles, getting covered from head to toe in mud…So it turned out her fate was filled with learning to embroider and being taught the art of serving tea to guests…A stranger though she was to Raoul, she had always maintained a cheerful disposition and when he fell ill through normal childhood ailments, she had always been the proper little nurse, bustling about gaily while doling out medicine. _

_She stood there now, her pale face stained with tears, her hands fidgeting as she held a basket in her arms. _

"_Raoul…" she dropped the basket and flew over to him, throwing her arms around him, she buried her face in his shirt sobbing wretchedly._

_Raoul slowly entwined his arms around her, still in shock at the fact that she was here. She had never visited him before. Her body trembled with sorrow, and his heart wrenched at her obvious despair. _

_She slowly moved back, pulling the golden curls from her damp face as she sniffled._

"_Forgive me," she whispered, "Oh but I've wanted to see you for years. My poor, wretched brother!" she moved towards him again and planted a soft kiss on his cheek, her tears mingling into his._

_He raised his hand affectionately and caressed her hair gently, "I understand little Cherry," he choked on his own sob, "My you've grown beautiful! The last time I talked to you properly, you were a clumsy little twelve year old," _

_She managed a soft laugh and they clung to each other in another embrace. She then quickly moved back, "Audra will be coming in a few minutes. She is just having an argument with the hansom driver…" _

_She turned and picked up the basket, handing it to him, "I baked you some food…" she shrugged as if it meant nothing, "I seem to recall that you were besotted with cinnamon in your younger days…"_

_There was silence for a moment, and she chewed at her lip fretfully, as she turned her head nervously from side-to-side. Finally she spoke up, swallowing nervously, "Did you do it on purpose Raoul?"_

_Raoul said nothing as he placed the basket carefully on the floor. His voice was cold, despite the pains he took in trying to keep it level, as he answered, "Do you think me capable of doing such a dreadful crime on purpose?"_

_Cherilyn folded her arms and finally burst into tears, "No, of course not. But Raoul, Audra is saying such awful things," suddenly she flung her arms around him again, "I don't want you to die! I'm sorry I haven't been able to see you, oh how I've wanted to! I had to literally beg to come see you now,"_

_Raoul rocked his little sister gently, surprised that comforting this distraught girl somehow eased his own suffering a little._

"_Raoul," she was saying quickly, in a panic, "I – I have a little money, I will go to Fletcher Dumas – he's been a friend to you, hasn't he? And I will give it to him to help you get a better lawyer for your appeal, alright? D – don't tell Audra, please? Oh I know you wouldn't…I can't let you die!" _

"_Oh, I've missed you…" Raoul murmured, "You and Christine would have been such good friends…And Laurie would have adored you…" Raoul moved back, "After I'm gone, you pay them a visit, alright? You're older now, and I won't be in the picture, so that won't be an issue…"_

_He suddenly noticed her face had turned away from him guiltily when he mentioned his son._

"_Cherry?" he touched her face gently, "What is it?"_

_But she moved back to the other side of the cell when the clinking of keys could be heard, and the door opened. A tall middle-aged woman with the same golden hair as the others, but pulled back severely in a bun stepped in._

_She nodded curtly to Raoul as he sat back down._

"_Good morning, Raoul," _

_He watched her carefully, and slowly nodded as politely as he could._

"_I see Cherilyn has given you the biscuits and cake she insisted on making," Audra said._

_Her answer was met by silence, but she ignored Cherilyn as she covered her mouth with her hand, repressing a sob._

_Finally Raoul spoke, "I suppose I would be correct in thinking you would be happy with today's outcome?"_

_The woman folded her arms, a disdainful frown creeping over her face, "My brother is dead, how could you think for a moment I could be happy in such a situation?"_

"_I beg your pardon," he could not help the sarcasm from his words, "But I assumed since you were advocating so hard for –"_

"_Raoul, I never wanted any of this to happen, don't be melodramatic. I am satisfied that justice prevailed today, that is all that I feel," she answered._

"_Justice?" Raoul sighed wearily, "Yes, I suppose it was. But Audra, it was an accident!" _

"Don't!" Audra said sharply, holding a hand out, "Don't even begin with that! Your selfish acts led to his death, and you cannot deny that! You went against us Raoul, not caring an ounce that we were against your marrying that little –"

_Raoul suddenly stood, "You may insult me as much as you like Audra, and I am sure you have a plethora of abuse ready for me – but you do not say one word against my wife!"_

_Audra looked at him scornfully, "Still playing the fairytale hero," she smirked, "Raoul, in case you haven't noticed –"_

"_Stop it!" Cherilyn suddenly blurted out, "Please Audra, leave him be!"_

_The girl shrank back as soon as she said it, wilting under her sister's cold gaze, and she softly mumbled an apology._

"_Anyway," Audra turned back to Raoul, "I suppose Cherilyn is right – there is no use lingering when I have business to talk about,"_

_Raoul blinked confused, "Business?"_

"_Your son," Audra said simply, "Laurence. The only male de Chagny heir,"_

_Raoul's eyes flickered to Cherilyn for a moment, remembering how she had looked wracked with guilt when Laurence had been mentioned, "What…What about my son?"_

"_Oh Raoul, do be realistic – you could hardly think it could be allowed to let an impressionable child be raised by that whore," Audra laughed._

_Raoul squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand. What she was saying made absolutely no sense…_

"_I have written to some relatives of ours in London, a childless couple who would be only to happy to take him I am sure, until he is of age," Audra continued as if she were merely talking about the weather, "But I don't know now – I mean, perhaps it is best if he remains in Paris, and I'm sure my girls would welcome a brother,"_

"_You cannot be serious…" Raoul finally spoke, "Laurence is staying where he is –"_

"_I am indeed serious," Audra said sharply, "Laurence can not grow into a proper young man living in the shadow of his Father being a murderer and his Mother a –"_

"_Stop it at once!" Raoul suddenly roared as anger surged through him. In three strides he was face-to-face with her, and to her shock he had pinned her to the wall, "You step anywhere near my child and I swear –"_

_She regained her composure in less than a moment, "You'll what Raoul? Murder me in cold blood like you did your brother? Well, nothing after that would surprise me – oh but wait, you'll be dead…"_

_A blind rage hit Raoul hard, and all colours around him seeped away, replaced with red. He couldn't remember much, but that in a few moments he was being pinned to the wall by a guard as he bellowed out inaudible fury. He did not hear Cherilyn weeping, or Audra ordering her to leave (finally dragging the young girl out), but he did remember suddenly propelling himself off the wall when the two women had left, screaming at the top of his voice to Audra through the bars on his cell door, "You cannot take my son!"_

_Blind heat went through him, and for a minute he slipped into insanity as he pummelled his fists into the wall, as terror and hopelessness clashed together, making a bitter cocktail of fear._

"_Laurence…!" he sobbed over and over again, till finally a hand grabbed his shoulder and blindly he spun around, punching out at the aggressor… _


	21. Chapter 21

Holy crap, thank you for the awesome reviews you guys!! Happy dance I promise it'll get exciting soon. Promise. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I'll try to write another one in a few days, I just have so much uni work to do...But don't worry, the chapters will still keep coming.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One.**

Raoul sighed wearily after he replayed the scenario to Fletcher, who sat beside him resignedly. Raoul sat up and thanked Fletcher quietly when he handed him a cigarette and lit it.

"That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard," Fletcher lit his own cigarette and puffed on it, "I doubt she would really go through with it…"

"After pushing so hard for the death penalty for her youngest brother, I wouldn't be so flippant on saying what she would and wouldn't do," Raoul replied.

"Bloody waste of money…" Fletcher muttered under his breath, "Believe me, when the court case is won, I will make sure she reimburses everything she made you waste in law costs," he suddenly choked on the smoke he inhaled, ashamed at what he had just said, "Don't worry though Raoul, after the appeal, she won't be able to with you alive,"

Raoul made a non-committal sound, but chose not to reply. He suddenly chuckled, and Fletcher turned to him, eyebrow raised, "What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing…" Raoul took another drag, but laughed again, holding his head back.

"Please tell me you haven't gone mad," Fletcher said uneasily.

"No, I would have used that as an excuse if I was," Raoul replied.

"That's what I was telling Ansel you should have used," Fletcher commented.

"Ah," Raoul nodded, then continued, "I just had an amusing thought – here I am sitting here with you, smoking on a fine cigarette, about to ask you if you would like some cake my sister has baked me, as calm as you please, and this morning I was just sentenced to death,"

"Isn't life surreal…?" Fletcher muttered, "But a thought – you may not want to eat the cake, it may be laced with poison,"

"No…" Raoul shook his head, "Cherilyn baked it, not Audra. And anyway, she wouldn't risk not having the pleasure of seeing me be dropped from the gallows,"

Fletcher fidgeted uncomfortably, "Anyway, I do not want to speak of such things. I will go to the courthouse after here and apply for an appeal. Then I would like to bring Christine to see you – you do realise now though, Laurence will have to come see you?"

Raoul closed his eyes as that line of thought pained him, "I suppose,"

"And another thing…" Fletcher said awkwardly, "I couldn't stop a certain man from coming to see her today…"

"The Phantom?" Raoul asked, and surprised Fletcher nodded. Raoul shrugged, "He will come see me too I suppose,"

"I can have him arrested –" Fletcher began.

"No!" Raoul said firmly, then lowered his voice, "It would...Christine...No, Fletcher, please do nothing of the sort,"

Fletcher grunted in reply and the two men sat in silence for a few minutes longer.

"Thank you for coming," Raoul murmured after awhile, "When I sent you the letter asking for your assistance,"

"Pray tell me," Fletcher said slyly, "What else was I supposed to do?"

"Well, I wasn't sure you would…After chasing me off your property with your pistol those years ago, I didn't know for certain you had forgiven me," Raoul answered.

Fletcher laughed at this, "My sister beat me senseless after interrupting your little rendezvous,"

Raoul joined in Fletcher's mirth, "How is your sister anyway, Fletcher? Is she happy with her husband? The doctor, isn't he?"

Fletcher nodded, "Corry is doing well, she's besotted with the twins…A few months old they are now. Pierre's a good man, for some strange reason Ansel seems to loathe him though,"

"I heard Pierre's sister has moved in with them now that she is a widow?" Raoul asked.

"Yes," Fletcher nodded, "Poor girl never had any children of her own with the man. She is quite alone. She wears black all the time…It is most unsettling,"

Raoul said nothing for a moment, not trusting himself to speak as melancholy seeped through him, "My wife is too young to be a widow…"

"She won't be," Fletcher said adamantly.

But Raoul ignored him as he continued, "Atleast she will have Laurence…The little fellow looks like me…He'll be a reminder…" Raoul's voice cracked and he covered his mouth with his hand as he trembled slightly with sorrow, "I was going to take him sailing…My Father was always away, but I swore I would take them with me everywhere. I've always taken them on every trip so far…"

Fletcher chewed his lip and sighed, taking hold of Raoul he pulled him close and his friend leaned against him as he shuddered with sobs, "I was too happy with Christine and my little boy, that's what it is," Raoul said in between sobs, "After everything – it – it was not right for us to be so happy,"

"Now you're just talking nonsense," Fletcher reprimanded Raoul, but his voice misted with his repressed tears, and he coughed to clear his throat, resorting back to murmuring words of comfort.

Raoul pulled back embarrassed after a few minutes, scrubbing the tears away ashamed. He lowered his gaze, "Atleast I should be thankful that she will be protected,"

"You have my word on that," Fletcher said firmly.

Raoul looked up confused, "What?...Oh," he nodded slowly, "Of course, I am indebted to you. You have done far too much as it is,"

But he turned away suddenly thoughtful, and Fletcher watched him carefully, as the sorrow he was showing moments earlier changed to realisation and determination.

"A widow…She will be a widow…" Raoul was murmuring to himself, and stood, pacing the small cell slowly but determined.

There was a heavy banging on the door, and a guard barked out, "Dumas, one more minute,"

Fletcher leaned forward, not bothering to reply to the guard, "What on earth are you thinking about Raoul?"

Raoul folded his arms and turned to Fletcher, "I am not a hundred percent sure…But could you please do me a small favour?"

"Of course,"

"When you return to Christine and see the Phantom, could you please ask him to bring me some ink, a quill and manuscript paper when he comes to me? Christine will know where my wax seal is, ask him to bring that too please…And please tell him that blue or black ink will be more sufficient than crimson," Raoul covered his mouth with his hand thoughtfully, which muffled the next words, "She will be protected…"

"What…Why…What do you need to see him for? I can bring those things myself," Fletcher asked, utterly perplexed, "And what are you going to write?"

"I need to see the man Fletcher," Raoul answered slowly, "And as for what I am going to write – well, a new will of course,"


	22. Chapter 22

Thank you so much for the reviews!! They were all very lovely, and I was excited to read them.

Okay, for those who have marked this as "favourites" or "alert", I'm not sure if you were able to read the chapter before, because I didn't get an email saying I had posted a chapter, or any emails saying I got reviews, which I usually do. So, yeah, just in case...

My friend Noelle is an aspiring artist, and I thought it would be appropriate to show you her account, where a couple of scenes from my various phics have found themselves on her canvas. I would have her link, but I...Had foolishly deleted our net conversation before I copied and pasted it...Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuurgh. Well, I'll post it next time.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two.**

Christine peered out of the window of the buggy as she sat in the carriage with the de Chagny crest lacquered on the door, with her son nestled in her lap, as the buggy made its way down the streets. The sky was grey with winter clouds looming overhead, and absentmindedly she was satisfied that she had forced her little boy to wear his coat and scarf to ward him from the cold. He looked like a Christmas bauble in the festive colours of green and scarlet, and she hoped that the trace of merriment in Laurence's clothing would seep into Raoul. Or…Perhaps it would make the visit more melancholy…

She smacked Laurence's hand lightly as he tried once again to pull the beanie from his head. He complained about the wool making his scalp itchy, and to quieten him she pulled him close, "You promised you would be good _le petite_,"

She had promised the night before that she would tell him some things, and when she had come home exhausted from the courts, he had cornered her, pleading to know where his Father was. And she had finally surrendered, but asked him to be patient. She had not told him he was seeing his Father – did not quite know how to tell him he was in prison. Was that cowardice? It was possible, but she hoped that seeing his Father would outweigh any other questions.

The Phantom had come to call on her that day. She knew that all he wanted to do was console her, but she had had no choice but to remain aloof and composed, veiling her burnt shock – her Angel was in the same room as her! She had held her hands behind her back as she stood by the window, to conceal their trembling slightly. Her conscience pricked painfully at how she had acted the previous night, how she had left the room and ordered him to leave the manor. But his voice – those memories – her damned weakness! She had had no choice! Oh why on earth had he come back? She held Laurence tighter with that thought.

The carriage came to a halt outside the building, and the driver opened the door when he came down from the driver's seat. She thanked him softly as she departed the buggy with Laurence in her arms (who shook his golden curls after he pulled his beanie off with great satisfaction, when her arms could do nothing to stop him as they held him). His pretty young nurse Josette stepped out after them, and Christine nodded thankfully as she handed Laurence over.

"Please wait here, Josie," she asked.

"Yes Madame," Josette answered politely as she placed Laurence down and ignoring his protests pulled the beanie back over his curls.

Christine held her head high as she walked up the steps and through the entranceway. The guard at the desk nodded courteously when he saw her and motioned for another guard, as was their regular ritual, to escort her to Raoul's cell.

She shook her head slightly, and the other guard stopped when she moved closer to the one behind the desk. She took out a purse from the pocket in her periwinkle blue cloak and opened the gold clasp, taking out a couple of notes.

"Please," she said, her voice calm and firm, "I have my son outside. He is far too young to see his Father in such a place as this, and I know my husband would not wish it. But as you are most probably aware, the time is limited for Father and son to see each other. Therefore I am asking for your understanding. After I speak to him for a few moments, can he please be escorted outside?"

As the guard began to speak, she hurried on and held out the money, "I understand that it would be impossible for him to leave the premises, and all I am asking for is for him to be allowed to have as much time as you would allow outside the back of this building – where the park bench is. Please. Of course he can be supervised by as many guards as you see fit – the objective is for Laurence to see his Father, there are no ulterior motives such as escape – I swear it!"

The guard looked at her for a moment blankly, and then gently pushed her hand away, "Put your money back Madame," he said, his voice sketched with sympathy, "It would not do for my colleagues to see you offering such things,"

He nodded satisfied as she slowly returned the money to her purse, "I can not offer you long, Madame. I cannot spare two guards for more than half an hour today,"

She nodded gratefully, "Oh thank you! Thank you Sir!"

The guard waved her appreciation away, and then gestured for the other guard to come forth, "Take Madame de Chagny to her husband's cell for a few minutes, and then escort the Vicompte with another guard out to the back courtyard,"

The guard nodded, and Christine followed as he led her to Raoul's cell. After unlocking the door, he stayed outside while Christine stepped in. Raoul had been staring blankly outside his cell window, sitting cross-legged on his bed. He turned as she entered and for a moment husband and wife stared at each other, until Christine ran over to him, and flung her arms around him.

"Fletcher said he would go to apply for an appeal. He should have done that by now," she said softly, and responded to Raoul's kiss as he turned her face to his.

His arms enfolded around her gently, and she rested her head on his neck as his hand slowly encircled her back lovingly. He said not a word, but she heard his contented sigh as she scattered soft kisses on his neck.

"I have brought Laurence…"

This statement ruined the tender moment and he pulled away from her at once, covering his face with his hands, "I wish you had not,"

"Raoul…" she whispered as she took his hands and tilted his face to hers with her finger under his chin, "How can you say such a thing? I know you have yearned to see him, and he thinks of nothing else,"

"Of course I want to see my son," Raoul muttered, "But not here. Not in this godforsaken cell,"

She moved forward again, her hands caressing his hair as her mouth lingered over his. She bit his lower lip softly and he opened his mouth when they deepened the kiss as her tongue slid in. He let out a soft whimper as he held her, his grip tightening. His blood surged with heat, he wanted her!

He was panting slightly as she moved back, and his heart jolted almost painfully as he craved to take her in his arms once again, ached to join with her. But he mentally shook himself, there would be no chance of having her in this dirty cell.

"Do not fear Raoul," she continued, "The guard has allowed you to be escorted outside. Laurence will not have to see you in this cell,"

He nodded, "Good…"

She stood up and held her hand out. He took hers and stood up, and not being able to resist he captured her mouth once again with a kiss. As a sigh escaped her he gently pushed her to the wall of the cell, and pinned his body over hers.

"Lotte…" his voice turned husky, and encouraged by her compliance his hand reached out and caressed her cheek, then slid down to cup her breast through her dress. She hissed at this touch and his kiss became hungrier. With nimble fingers he unlaced the ribbon to her bonnet under her chin, and pulled it off, discarding it to the floor as his mouth moved to her chocolate curls. With his teeth he pulled the butterfly clip which held her hair up, and smiled with want as her curls fell down her shoulders and back. The clip fell to the floor without a thought and he pulled her as close to him as he could, scattering kisses through her hair.

She gasped suddenly when his hips rocked against hers impulsively, and felt the aching testament of his desire for her.

"Raoul…"

She gently pulled away from him, rubbing his arms gently with unspoken apology, "We must stop…"

He moved away from her as if spurned, covering his mouth with his hand as he stood by his desk to cool down his yearning.

They stood in silence for a minute or so, till Christine tentatively asked, "Are you alright?"

Raoul did not answer straightaway, but finally he nodded slowly when he could trust himself to speak, "Everything is alright now,"

"It was my fault…I'm so sorry, I should not have –"

"Christine," Raoul held out his arm and she came over as he gave her a quick hug, "Everything's alright,"

He knocked on the door of the cell for the guard to return, and he quickly went back to his desk where he slid a velvet rectangular box into his coat. The guard entered as Christine was pocketing her clip and replacing the bonnet over her hair. He smirked at her rumpled appearance, and she could not help the scarlet blush as embarrassment befell her. But his smirk faded as Raoul turned stonily to face him.

He held out his hands and the guard handcuffed him, and they left the cell.

"I must go collect Laurence," she said, and went down the corridor and out of the building.

Josette was watching Laurence as he innocently skipped over the cracks on the footpath as he waited for his Mother to return, and as soon as he saw her he rushed up. She took his hand in hers and nodded to Josette to follow as she took out a small blanket-covered basket from the carriage.

Christine walked around an alley through to the back where a park bench was situated. Laurence clambered on to it, and boyishly tried to balance on it with one foot. Christine turned as the back door to the building was opened, and her husband stepped out with two guards.

"Laurence, why don't you turn around?" Christine suggested softly as a tear slid down her cheek and a smile crept over her face.

Laurence looked up at his Mother, than did as he was told, and almost toppled off the park bench when he saw his Father. Christine grabbed him just in time, but Laurence squirmed from her impatiently, crying out, and when his two feet were safely planted on the ground he all but flew over to Raoul, and collided into his legs.

Raoul impatiently held out his hands so the guard could uncuff him, and when he was free the little boy was swung into the air as he squealed with delight, then pulled into a tight embrace as Raoul enfolded his arms around his beloved son.

"Papa! Papa!" the little boy squealed and giggled furiously as his cheek touched Raoul's.

Raoul was unable to say anything, but joined in his son's laughter, and sprinkled kisses over his face.

"I've missed you so, my little Laurence," he managed to say finally, tears coating his words, and he moved one arm to enfold Christine as she joined them. The guards moved a few metres away as the family held each other.

"When will you come home, Papa?" Laurence asked, and repeated the question when he received no answer.

Raoul said nothing as he moved over to the park bench and sat down. He pulled Laurence's beanie off and lovingly combed his fingers through his son's hair, mesmerised.

"You've grown since I've seen you Laurie," hi fingers gently traced the contours of his son's face. His forehead, his smooth cheekbones, his mouth…Then he enfolded his arms around him and pulled him back in an embrace, _"Je t'aime mon fils,"_

"I love you too, Papa," Laurence replied, "Papa…Papa, you're squashing me,"

Raoul wiped his eyes with the back of his hand before he released his son, "You're so big…" he cleared his throat as his voice broke.

Laurence latched onto his arm excitedly, "It's nearly Christmas and we have to put up the tree and – when will you come home? Why won't you come home?" his brow suddenly creased thoughtfully, "The policeman is here. Why is he here Papa?"

Raoul looked up at Christine who held out her hands in a gesture of hopelessness, and he turned back to his son, "I…I cannot…" he swallowed, trying to think of an answer.

"Will you be home soon?" Laurence asked again.

"I…Don't know," Raoul answered hoarsely.

To that answer his son pouted, "I hate secrets!"

Raoul seized onto that train of thought hurriedly, "Yes – it's a secret Laurence…One day you will be told, but now…"

"I want to be told now," Laurence protested.

Raoul leaned forward and kissed his forehead, "Someday you will be told precious one, I swear it,"

"Do you promise Papa?"

"I promise Laurence," Raoul answered solemnly.

Laurence wrinkled his nose impatiently, but finally nodded begrudgingly, "Alright…But can you come home soon?"

"I don't know Laurence…" Raoul trembled over his words, but forced a smile over his face, "But would you like a present?"

Laurence's face brightened a little, "Yes please,"

Raoul's smile turned genuine when he saw the sweet genuineness on Laurence's face and his hand dipped into his coat pocket, where he pulled the rectangular velvet box out.

Laurence peered closely in anticipation as his father opened it, and his eyes widened when he saw his Father's golden pocketwatch he always used to wear on his waistcoat, "Silly Papa," he giggled, "I can't have that – that's yours!"

Raoul took out the watch, and placed it in his son's hand, "No, this belongs to the de Chagny family. It belonged to my Father, his Father, and his Father. Now, it is yours, and will belong to your son one day,"

Laurence eyed the watch in awe. Raoul left it in his son's hand, but opened it up, revealing two components, where a watch and a compass were.

"That's like Uncle Ansel's!" Laurence cried out as he saw the compass.

"If you ever become lost, you can find your home again, Paris, with this," Raoul said, and Laurence nodded then looked at his Father, "Well won't you need it until you come back home?"

A tear escaped from Raoul's eye, sliding down his cheek, "It is yours now Laurence,"

Laurence nodded, but still held it out, "You can give it to me when you come back home,"

Raoul was about to protest, but the formal way in which his son looked, handing back something so important, Raoul gently took it, "Very well,"

Christine sat beside them when the moment between Father and son had passed. She held out the blanket covered basket Josette had brought from the carriage, "Some provisions Raoul,"

Raoul lifted the blanket and saw the muffins she had baked for him, and the other sweet things she had packed for him, including his favourite bar of chocolate. He smiled and took out the chocolate, unwrapped it and snapped off a piece, holding it out to Laurence.

"Thank you Papa!"

"Nice manners, Laurie," Raoul ruffled his son's hair affectionately, and then turned to Christine placing a kiss on her cheek, "Thank you _ma cherie_,"

He took out a muffin appreciatively and broke a piece off, popping it into his mouth. "Have something, Lotte," he offered her the basket, and nodded to Josette.

"No thank you Monsieur," Josette answered, while Christine broke a piece off his muffin.

"You don't like blueberries…" Raoul said curiously, and looked back in the basket, "Here – you baked chocolate as well,"

"Oh no, blueberry is fine. I have just of late had a craving for them," she replied.

"Papa!" Laurence said suddenly, "Do you know Napoleon?"

"Your soldier?" Raoul asked, fondly remembering the arguments he always had with his son, that the redcoats were the bad side, and that Napoleon never fought with them ("But red is a better colour" was his son's justification).

Laurence nodded, "I gave it to the awfully big man who was Maman's music teacher. He said he saw you, and that he would give it to you when he visits again,"

Raoul looked to Christine who squirmed uncomfortably.

"So he has seen you then," he murmured.

"Yes," her eyes were full of fear at what he would say.

He rubbed her arm soothingly, and she looked surprised when he said, "I am glad of it, Lotte,"

She opened her mouth to continue, but stopped when she remembered Laurence's presence, and he kissed her instead.

He sat for a while in silence, Raoul forgetting for those moments his upcoming fate as his wife nestled her cheek against his shoulder, and his son talked innocently over trivial things, while bouncing on his lap.

The spell was broken when a raucous noise from the building erupted, and someone shouted out from the door, "Bring de Chagny back, we need you two in here!"

Raoul looked over alarmed to the two guards who moved over to him. Christine took his arm tightly, "It hasn't been half an hour!"

"Our apologies Madame," one said, "Bring your son in tomorrow, and you may have longer,"

The other guard took the basket, while that one cuffed Raoul's hands again.

"Papa…" Laurence said uncertainly, at the way the guards took his shoulders and began to lead him away.

Raoul pulled back roughly from the guards, cursing them "Give me a moment!" and knelt down to Laurence, "I have to go now Laurie, but Maman will bring you again tomorrow?"

Laurence quietly said "Alright then," and Raoul kissed the tip of his nose. Raoul stood and quickly said "I love you Lotte," to his wife, as he was escorted back to the building. As he was walking, he turned, watching as Christine bent down to pick his son up. Laurence waved as he saw his Father looking back, and Raoul smiled before looking back in front of him. And for some strange reason, even though he was walking away from his family and only that morning his sentence had been handed to him, he felt oddly at peace.

* * *

He was lying on his bed in his cell later that afternoon, when there was a knock on the door and a guard let Fletcher in. Raoul sat up slowly when he noticed Fletcher's face was ashen and sickly pale. His hands held a package, and were trembling slightly. 

"Fletcher?"

Fletcher quietly put down the package on Raoul's bed, and combed his fingers through his hair fretfully, "I know you asked that Erik fellow to bring the paper and your seal…And…" he paused, "I just thought I should see you now…"

"Fletcher, what is it?"

Fletcher finally turned to Raoul, and chewed his lip as his voice trembled, "I am so sorry Raoul…The appeal…It has been denied…"

Raoul said nothing, and slowly lay back down, staring up at the ceiling.

"Raoul…"

Raoul heard Fletcher weeping, but could not look at him. He wondered how long it would be before this reality would crash over him. He had known he would not win the appeal, but it would have bought him more time with his wife and son.

"I'm so –"

"Fletcher? Could you please do me a favour?" Raoul's voice was calm as he interrupted him.

"Of course," Fletcher sniffled, suddenly not the young man of strength he always showed himself as. Suddenly he was as vulnerable as a child.

"Please leave me alone,"

There was a pause, "Are…Are you sure?"

"Quite sure," Raoul answered, and then added, "Christine does not know?"

"No…"

"Then please do not tell her. Leave that to me," Raoul said, then turned to the wall, "Goodbye Fletcher,"

Fletcher did not move straightaway as he wiped the tears from his cheeks, and composed himself, readying himself for the outside world.

"I'm sorry…" he said hoarsely, before he left.

Raoul sat back up again when Fletcher left the room, and slowly tore open the package. He took the paper, ink and quill and went over to the desk, where he sat for what seemed an eternity.

Then he bent his head, and as the quill scratched against the paper, he began to write his will. After his trivial possessions were left to various friends and his sister Cherilyn, he finished the manuscript with:

_I hereby bequeath all of my earthly assets to the ownership and direction of Fletcher J. Dumas...Including the guardianship of my only surviving heir Laurence Philippe de Chagny…_

Then with his flowing script, he signed the piece of paper and called out a guard so they could sign as a witness.

He loathed himself. But he knew all would go to plan. All that was left for him to do was to speak to the man once known as the Opera Ghost.


	23. Chapter 23

Yaaay, thank you as ALWAYS for ALL the lovely reviews. Thank yooooou.

And GerrysJackie, in answer to your question...Yes...There is a reason. And you will find out why in a couple of chapters.

I promise it'll be getting exciting soon.

Thank you!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three.**

Little Laurence could barely sit still as he sat beside his Mother in the carriage on the way to Auntie Meg's place. It was his nurse's night off, and they had dropped her off on the street where she lived when not at the de Chagny's. His little legs kicked up and down excitedly as his thoughts exploded with thoughts of his Father.

"…And when it snows we can go tobogganing like we did last year. And he said he would take me on his boat and we can go fishing, and –"

For a moment in his excitement he turned his head, and his words died as he saw his Mother leaning against the window, tears streaming down her face. But why was she crying so? Papa would be fine…He turned his head forward again, suddenly confused. He had been so happy a moment earlier, he had seen his Father, and he didn't understand the lump which began to form in his throat.

"Papa is in trouble, isn't he?"

Christine's body stiffened and she turned to her son in shock, "Whatever would make you think that Laurie?" her words were forced and calm, which contradicted the way her hands trembled slightly.

Laurence said nothing, but leant his head against her arm. He could not tell her _why _he knew for certain his Father was in trouble, for he should not even have been awake when he saw the policemen take him away…

_The knocking on the door of his nursery lifted Laurence from his slumber. He remained comfortably immobile snuggled in his bedsheets while Josette sat up from her bed and went to answer it._

"_Josette…" his ears pricked when he heard his Mother speaking softly, "Is Laurie asleep?"_

"_Yes, Madame," Josette answered, "He has been for some time,"_

"_Good…" Christine gestured for Josette to step out of the room, and the door was shut quietly._

_Laurence could hear their lowered voices and he sat up trying to listen to what they were saying. But the words were muffled, and he dared not risk going to the door because he knew he could be caught eavesdropping._

_He quickly lay back down when Josette stepped back in, and he feigned slumber._

"_Please do not let him out," he heard Christine say._

_Josette murmured affirmatively and closed the door. She came over to Laurence and gently brushed his cheek, then pulled the covers over him, before she went to sit in wait on her bed. _

_Laurence lay there curiously, and wondered at the muted voices he could hear wandering throughout the house. Strange, deep, unfamiliar voices, he did not like this at all. After awhile the door opened and he heard Josette softly curse at the trespasser._

"_He is not in here," she hissed angrily, "Now get out now before you wake the boy!"_

_The man surveyed the room with his eyes, ignoring the distressed nurse, then closed the door and left when he was satisfied. Laurence heard Josette finally go back to sleep, but questions spurned in his mind. What had Josette meant? Why was she angry? And who were those voices?_

_He waited for silence outside of the room before he slowly clambered out of bed and gently woke up Josette._

_She smiled wearily and sat up, pulling him close, "What is it cher coeur? Did you have a bad dream?"_

_He shook his head, "No. May I please have a drink of water Josie?"_

_She stood out of bed, ruffling his hair, "With beautiful manners like that, how can I refuse?" she went over to the empty pitcher of water, and took it, "I will just fill this. You be a good boy now, and climb back into bed,"_

_Laurence nodded, and when Josette left the room, Laurence waited a moment and then stole his chance. Pulling over a stool he opened the door silently after stepping up on it so he could reach the doorknob, and he crept outside. He needed to know what was happening._

_He hid behind the railing of the staircase, looking below, and saw a policeman underneath looking through the cloakroom. Laurence wrinkled his nose. What was a policeman doing here? And where was Papa?_

_He crept down the hall a little as quietly as a mouse, and suddenly he threw himself behind a pot plant when a door swung open, and to his shock his Father was being led out by a policeman._

_His Mother was sobbing hysterically, and his own frightened tears began to stream down his face when he saw her terror. His Maman was never scared – she was always happy. And while his Papa wasn't saying anything, Laurence could tell that he was afraid too. Why was the Policeman holding him so tightly? Where was he going?_

Christine threw herself forward, grabbing Raoul's arm, and she cried out,

"NO! You will not take my husband! You will NOT TAKE MY HUSBAND!"

_Laurence watched as she started hitting the Policeman feebly, and a small cry of terror from himself erupted when he saw another Policeman pulling her roughly away. He moved forward to help her, but at once a hand roughly seized him by the arm and covered his mouth, dragging him back to his nursery._

"_No, please, it's a mistake! Raoul! Tell them it's a mistake!"_

_Was the last thing he heard fully before the door to his nursery was closed and Josette banged the now full pitcher onto the table, the moment he was released from her grip._

"_You wicked, disobedient child!" Josette reprimanded harshly as she moved back over to him, kneeling beside him. She took him by the shoulders and shook him slightly, "I told you not to leave the room! I told you to go back to your bed!" _

He watched her, his own fear building rapidly when he saw the same fright in her, and he began to tremble.

"_Where are they taking Papa?" he began to weep, "And why is Maman crying?"_

_The anger and fear behind the pretty girl's dark eyes began to ebb away and subside when she saw the obvious fear in the little boy. Her own son would be just a little bit older, if only she could see him…She chided herself for her impatience moments before – little Laurence was a good boy really, he was just too curious for his own good. She pulled him close, rubbing his back soothingly, and carried him over to his bed where she lay him down and pulled the covers back over him._

"_Laurence, I do not know any more than you," she said softly._

"_Will they hurt Papa?" Laurence asked worriedly._

"_No, no, child, of course not," Josette comforted him, "Try to go to sleep Laurie. Please,"_

_But the little boy would not listen, and sat up much to his nurse's disgruntlement, "I want Maman!"_

_Josette suddenly took Laurence by the shoulders, "Look at me," her words were firm, and surprised at the tone he obeyed._

"_You listen to me Laurence. This is important," Josette swallowed before going on, "You must never tell your Mother what you saw tonight, do you hear me?"_

_Laurence creased his forehead in confusion, "Why?"_

"_Because your Mother is already vexed with worry. She did not want you to see what occurred," Josette brushed his hair affectionately with her hand, "You love your Mother very much, don't you?"_

"_Yes," Laurence chewed his lip anxiously, "I love Maman and Papa,"_

"_Good. And you saw how upset she was just then?" Josette asked._

_Laurence nodded._

"_You would not want to upset her more?" _

_Laurence shook his head, slowly beginning to understand the magnitude of the situation._

"_Then you must promise me Laurence, that you will never speak a word of it. You may ask your Mother where your Father is, but that is all. Do you promise me?" Josette took his hand._

"_I promise Josie," Laurence's mouth began to tremble, and he slowly began to weep. Everything was happening so suddenly, and he did not understand any of it. _

_He surrendered when Josette pulled him close, and went over to sit on the rocking-chair by the window, where she softly sang him a soothing lullabye. But he did not understand why she wept softly as well. She held him tighter when they both heard a wailing cry from downstairs, and fear and confusion mingled together when he realized it was coming from his Maman…_

"Your Father will be fine," Christine was soothing him, and it frightened him that even though his Mother had always told him it was a sin to lie, she was doing just that, "We will go and see him again, now wouldn't you like that?"

Laurence made a non-committal sound. He did not like the fact that it all seemed so hard, like a jigsaw puzzle that could not be solved.

The carriage pulled up outside Ansel Dumas's estate, and before the driver could open her door, Christine had taken Laurence in her arms and left the carriage in a hurry. She absentmindedly told the driver to come back at a later time, but she did not linger and was soon rushing to the front door.

Meg Dumas must have heard the carriage arrive, for at once she was out of the door, and in Christine's arms. Christine hugged her golden-haired friend tightly, and placed Laurence onto the ground as he squirmed. He toddled off into the house to find little Annabelle.

"Oh Christine," Meg cupped Christine's face gently, "Ansel told me about the sentence – what evil scum to hand such a punishment to Raoul. It will be appealed, and we will make sure he is set free,"

Christine sniffled, "Of course…Thank you Meg. My heart literally stopped when the Judge handed out the sentence…I'm so tired…"

"Of course you are," Meg took Christine's arm soothingly, and placed her other hand on her own slightly swollen stomach as she led Christine into the house, "What with the baby kicking mercilessly, and this horrible mess, I haven't been getting any sleep. I can only imagine what you are going through, what with your little imp running you haggard. Come, you need some tea,"

Christine smiled slightly, relaxing a little when her longest friend put her arm around her. They had weathered many storms together over their lives, and had found strength in each other. Whatever would she do without Meg, her dear husband and his playboy of a brother?

Whatever would she do without Raoul?

She bit back a sob angrily, as that renegade thought escaped. The battle had not been lost yet!

She began to walk to the kitchen where she usually talked over coffee and cake with Meg, but turned surprised when Meg led her to another direction.

"Ansel has a visitor in his study," Meg explained quickly, "I do not want to disturb him!"

"Oh Meg, why on earth didn't you tell me you had company? Oh I must rescue the visitor from my son…" Christine moved quickly down the hall, anxious and hoping that Laurence was not being a bother, ignoring Meg calling her.

She heard her son chattering in Ansel's study, and closing her eyes in dread, she poked her head in to call him.

She suddenly froze in shock when she saw who her son was talking to. Two year old Annabelle was tugging at her Father's trousers, as he sat at his desk with Laurence sitting on his lap.

"I t -told you a thousand t- times, that is not the type of th -theme the theatre w -wants. What am I s -supposed to tell them when I g- give them thi -this?" Ansel was saying frustratingly, pulling his curls from his eyes wearily.

"They will take it when they hear it played. Ye of little faith," the masked man rolled his eyes at the younger man's anxiety, "I on the other hand am more concerned about these so-called lyrics you wrote,"

Ansel began to protest but suddenly stopped in shock when he saw Christine standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with perplexity.

"M –Meg!" he called out alarmed.

The Phantom turned his face to Christine, his emotions neutral as he nodded politely to her, "We seem to be seeing each other a lot more all of a sudden,"

Christine leant against the doorframe as weariness and stress from the day that had built up took its toll on her. She pulled her arm away from Meg when she came up, ignored Meg's "I'm sorry…I could not tell you,"

"Well then," Christine slowly looked to her friend with undecipherable emotion, "I suppose you had better tell me everything now,"


	24. Chapter 24

So, blame or thank (whichever you think appropriate) Estella for this chapter, because I wasn't sure which story to continue after my epic long break and she pm'd specifically wanting this one

I am so unbelievably sorry this has taken so long…Thank you so much to the readers…

I'm really so sorry for this wait, this will be the one story I finish for now, and then I'll carry on with whatever people want next.

This chapter is for Noelle, because I'm the world's biggest bitch but she still loves me as a best friend…I hope…That's right, isn't it? Hmmm…

**Chapter Twenty Four.**

Meg led Christine in to the study and at once both men sprung up to offer their seats. Meg gave them a look and instead pulled over another chair, pushing Christine down gently who looked as if she did not know what to think or even where to look. She vaguely wrapped her arms around her son when he clambered up on to her lap, and finally watched Meg as she sank down onto the arm of Ansel's chair, pulling him down gently.

She was rubbing a faded scar on his knuckle with her forefinger and thumb affectionately as she murmured, "I do hope you forgive me one day for this Christine, but it was Ansel and I who helped the Phantom to escape the burning opera house."

Christine did not move, her facial features said nothing of what her innermost thoughts were delving into, so Ansel sighed and commenced on the explanation, piecing together for Christine all that he thought she deserved to know.

Meg swallowed nervously, interjecting when she thought to add something or to gently help with her husband's bumbling speech at one stage or another, but really her thoughts had drifted back to that time, to thoughts that she couldn't tell Christine, to the _whole_ story…

_Ansel was stumbling as they continued to make their way through the Phantom's labyrinth…She knew he was tired, but he refused to let her walk, reprimanding her whenever she tried to let go of his back. She could not help hiding back a yawn, and she rested the side of her face on Ansel's curls and before she knew it, her eyelids were heavy and she had slipped into slumber._

_"Meg, Meg, I'm sorry love, but we're on the street," Ansel was gently waking her._

_She stirred, needing a moment to recollect her thoughts and moaned softly as he lightly placed her back on her feet. She could see the Phantom pacing up and down the road, as stealthily as a serpent._

_He then came back over, eyeing her up and down with a dissatisfied frown._

_"You're wearing pants," he finally stated._

_"Th- the p-powers of y-your ded-dud-duduction n-never ceases t-to am-amaze me –" Ansel said dryly, but his boldness paled when the Phantom gave him a contemptuous look._

_He began to mutter to himself, turning to look behind him, then finally stated, "There is a gown boutique on the next block."_

_"What?" Ansel and Meg said in confusion together._

_He looked back at them as if he was wondering how they could be so foolish as to not understand his meaning._

_Meg murmured dumbly, "But the shops are closed…" she gasped when it finally clicked and she stepped back, "There is no way in Hades you are making me wear a stolen gown!"_

_"Think about it little Giry. Here is a young man dressed in Europe's finest fashion with his waistcoat and cravat that looks as if they were tailored in Venice, and he is supposedly my Master. You are the only one that looks out of place. Right now you could be mistaken for being a lady of the night the young man has paid for to wear men's clothing. Either you look like a prostitute, and the hansom driver will remember us or you dress like a lady and look like a normal couple just out for a leisurely evening. It is your choice my dear. I will not be caught!"_

_Meg stood there for a few moments in frantic thought. What he said was true, but…She couldn't just walk around in Paris in a stolen gown! That…That was absurd!_

_"No, no, Monsieur!" she tried to run forward when he grew weary of waiting for an answer, but Ansel held her back._

_"It's b-better to j-just let him do what-what-ever he th-thinks is best. The s-sooner it is d-done, the s-sooner we can b-be away fr-from this whole affair," and he pulled her close affectionately._

_They waited nervously for a while, till they saw a shadow rematerialise up the street, holding a gown of royal gold with a floral pattern over the material, and flowing lace of cream. Meg groaned and turned her head into Ansel's chest – of all the boutiques to raid, it looked as if he had broken into one of the most prestigious!_

_The Phantom came over and held out the gown and ivory lace wrist length gloves._

_"Where…Where am I to change?" Meg asked self consciously._

_Ansel turned his head, peering into an alleyway, "There is a wall that blocks off that alley, and I will guard this entrance."_

_Meg swallowed, looking nervously in the shadows, to Ansel, "But…But I can't! This is absurd, I…" she felt like weeping, she would be so exposed…She…_

_Ansel kissed her hair, whispering soothing encouragements and finally she took the gown and stepped into the shadows._

_The cool wind nipped mockingly at her bare skin as she pulled off the white top and leather pants that had been one of her costumes, and she stood, hugging herself in the dark in all but her corset and undergarments. A lump formed in her throat as she stared at the dress, imagining the difficulty of pulling that over her head with all the lace and the petticoat underneath. She felt like a common whore standing with nothing on in a dark alleyway, and attempted to put it on but to no avail. She was lost in an explosion of lace once the dress was over her head and she could barely breath. As she took it off for the last time she gasped for breath and finally wailed out in between sobs, "I cannot put this gown on myself!"_

_She heard footsteps and saw her nervous sweetheart moving forward, his eyes looking everywhere but at her._

_"M-meg, w-we really need t-to be g-going…" he stuttered._

_"But I cannot put this dress on Ansel! It's impossible! You have no idea how difficult it is for a woman to –" she protested._

_He moved forward, taking the gown from her gently. He looked at her for one moment, looked at her perfect but forbidden body, the secret rapture locked underneath her cream corset with the pale pink rosebuds, the top of her curves, her delicate dancer's legs…Immediately he looked away, immensely ridden with guilt and swallowed before he said, "Lift up your arms for me."_

_She obeyed him, but his hands were shaking so much it took longer than what it would normally do to help somebody dress. Once it was on, she pulled away from him, straightening the dress. Once she was clothed and not revealed to the world, she stopped trembling, and she even giggled at Ansel's fretfulness, even now he was fidgeting. She came over to him and kissed him lingeringly on the mouth, "It's alright now Ansel, you can look."_

_He finally looked down on her as she slid the gloves on. A fair amount of lace flowed off her shoulders, the material surrounding her neck and breasts, but dipped so low that the fabric seemed to mock him…_

_He took her hand and for a moment it looked as if he wanted to say something as he looked down on her, but then lightly tidied her honey coloured hair with his fingers and then led her out, after taking her costume._

_From the lamplight the Phantom could see the tears that stained Meg's cheeks and hastily he pulled out a handkerchief and placed it in her hand, "If it makes you feel any better little Giry, a lady's gown suits you very well…"_

_Meg looked up at him, her eyes meeting his. She blinked and looked away muttering, "Yes but I am no lady am I? It is all a façade…This dress isn't mine and somehow after all this, I want you to return it."_

_The Phantom touched her shoulder lightly, and she leaned into his soothing caress, until Ansel cleared his throat and thrust Meg's costume into his arms, "Well s-since we're all j-just perf-f-forming, go carry out with y-your part of this and go c-call for a h-hansom."_

_The Phantom bowed mockingly with a flourish of his hand, "Of course Master." And ran off to a busier nearby street._

_Not long after, the Phantom returned with a hansom cab, directing the driver to where Ansel and Meg stood and with another bow opened the door, helping his Master's sweetheart inside. The driver grinned toothily and said, "Ah! Did you hear about the commotion up at the Opera Populaire? Not a nice business, there's a fire, everything is in chaos or so I hear! But don't you look lovely – both wearing gold, a matching couple I see!"_

_Meg quickly turned to Ansel, noticing he was wearing a gold vest and smiled to herself at that subtle touch of their "servant's". Meg muttered the address to her old home to the Phantom and he told the driver. Once they were all three seated inside, on their journey, they all began to relax easily._

_The Phantom tossed Ansel's family ring back to him, muttering, "You honoured your part of this. As soon as I am safe you are relinquished of your obligation with much gratitude."_

_Ansel smiled to himself as he fiddled with his ring, then looking straight ahead he took Meg's hand and slid it over her gloved finger with a smile, then he squeezed her hand lovingly. Meg looked out the window absentmindedly, but she squeezed in return._

_The rest of the journey went on in silence, and the calm rocking of the carriage driving over cobblestones lulled them into a state of peace. Twenty minutes later they were nearing their destination._

_"Oh, I haven't been there in years. But I can remember it, my bedroom was painted pink and…" Meg was reminiscing fondly._

_But this sweet interlude was broken when Ansel peered out the window and muttered "Shit!"_

_"What is it? Don't use such language, I…" Meg's voice trailed and her eyes widened in panic when she saw what had caused Ansel to speak so garishly._

_Horses were tethered to the trees surrounding the small property and gendarmes were swarmed and stationed around._

_Meg's heart began to beat at an abnormal pace, and she turned to the Phantom in fright, "How would they know to come here?"_

_She stopped breathing when she saw the wild look in his eyes, the look of the hunted, cold and unforgiving. She did not register the accusation aimed at her until he snarled moving forward and grabbing her wrist so tightly she cried out in pain, "This was a trick! You lured me here into a trap you little bitch!"_

_"No!" Meg gaped, utterly perplexed, "No, no of course not! Never! I only wanted to help, I don't know what they're doing here! Truly!"_

_Ansel lent over and tore Meg away from the Phantom, saying viciously (intriguingly without a stutter for once), "Don't be an idiot!" then he popped his head out of the window and told the driver to stop._

_"Wh-what are we g-going to d-do?" he asked the Phantom, but jumped when there was a knock on the door._

_There was only the sound of their terrified breathing for one moment, intermingled with a sob from Meg, who began stumbling over her whispered, "I d-d-didn't kn-know! I sw-swear it o-on my f-father's gr-gr-grave!"_

_"Shh!" Ansel warned her as he forced himself to calm and open the door, "Wh-what do you wa-want Inspecteur?"_

_"Good evening Sir, I do apologise, but could you and your party please disembark this carriage for a short while? There's a lunatic criminal on the loose you see, can't take too many precautions…"_

_Ansel turned back helplessly, muttering, "C-certainly…" but stopped when he saw the Phantom sneaking skilfully out of the opposite window, up on to the roof of the carriage._

_Ansel quietly obliged the Inspecteur and opened the door, but the Gendarme stepped back in alarm when he saw a shadowed creature shoving the driver off the top and cutting one of the horses loose. He pulled out his gun, making a warning shot, but in less than a moment the Phantom was away on the horse, galloping as hard as the beast could go, as if the demons of hell themselves were chasing him._

_Meg pulled herself out of the carriage, clinging to Ansel and letting out a sob as other gendarmes approached speedily, shooting after him and jumping on their own horses, giving chase. She hid her face against him as there were the sound of a few more shots and the figure on the runaway horse cried out and slid forward, clutching to the horse's mane…_

Meg arrived back in the study of her home at that thought abruptly, not wanting to think how the Gendarmes tore her and Ansel apart, barking at them and pelting questions. She watched Christine, who's expression had not changed in the slightest at this confession. Laurence had left the room earlier, to go find Annabelle after realising this did not involve his Father, whom he was desperate to hear about.

Christine's eyes finally met Ansel's and she nodded solemnly, "But I am not completely satisfied. That explains how he escaped the Opera Populaire, but it does not explain how he has built such a relationship with you that he is sitting in here, in your home, talking with you and drinking tea," and then she turned to Meg, "And it does not explain this sordid secrecy that has existed between you and I. I thought you were my closest friend, Meg…I thought we kept nothing between us, after everything…"


End file.
